Change My Fate
by Komusai Matakatana
Summary: Unsatisfied with his current level of power, Grimmjow uses Orihime's abilities to give himself another chance at evolving before the Winter War commences. What results is the strength to make a difference, the strength to survive. Dark Themes and Harem
1. Desire

Summary: Unsatisfied with his current level of power, Grimmjow uses Orihime's abilities to give himself another chance at evolving. Dark Themes and Harem…ish.

**Disclaimer: If I owned Bleach, I wouldn't have drawn Power Mullet Aizen.**

**Warning: this is all kinds of graphic. Dark themes, Sex, and Violence ahead.**

**Pairings: If I had to pick one, it would be GrimmxHime, but be warned, there won't be much love in this story. It's going to focus around very Hollow-like relationships. In fact, this will probably be very harem-ish depending on how you look at it. **

"Speech"

_Thoughts and written material in the story._

_**You'll probably **_**"be able to figure these" **_**out.**_

* * *

Maybe he had overdone it a little.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez strolled casually down the vacant hallway that connected the towers containing Aizen's throne room and the Espada's residential chambers. With him, trailing behind and leaving a residual crimson streak along the sterile tile, were the remains of the former Sexta.

The torso bobbed up and down slightly in tune with his wide gait as the clothes surrounding the corpse brushed against the ground and added the rustling of fabric to the sounds of echoing footsteps and droplets of blood seeping through half-cauterized flesh before splashing against the stark white flooring.

In retrospect, he shouldn't have pulled something so flashy. His rage would have been better assuaged through a slower process that could have kept Luppi's body mostly intact. Now he didn't have much to work with, but he was grateful for what he had. It was better than nothing, and his primary goal of regaining his position and standing had been accomplished more than spectacularly. He wasn't in dire need of what the deceased had to offer anyway.

The morbid rhythm remained unbroken all the way to his chambers.

Outside the threshold, Grimmjow grasped his baggage in such a manner that his furnishings would remain unstained and proceeded inside. As all of Las Noches was, the area was a monochromatic gray and obscenely spacious despite the decadent amount of objects arranged professionally around the many rooms. Victorian-era lounge furniture was common as was other lavish stylings that the newly re-promoted Espada didn't particularly care for. The many plush daybeds and finely detailed armoires contradicted his callous nature, but Aizen had firmly insisted on his top soldiers harboring these antiques for purely aesthetic reasons.

Or at least that's what Grimmjow had been led to believe. He knew Aizen wasn't foolish enough to believe that he could sophisticate his army with tokens and tea ceremony. It was all a charade to make Las Noches seem like anything but the prison it actually was. But at least the man had stocked his room with an extensive and surprisingly unrestricted library sufficient enough to dispel the monotony of Hueco Mundo. A fight with a strong opponent was few and far between for an Espada, and those were the only ones that could hold his interest.

Languidly, the Arrancar made his way over to a small round enclosure past the living area and tossed the tepid carcass onto a granite table housed by a curved booth that rested against the sandstone wall. Circular windows were carved into the rock, offering an entrance for the pale moonlight and providing a view of the gargantuan domed structure below in addition to the endless sands beyond.

He quickly got to work.

First he unsheathed his sword and expertly severed the groin without scratching the surface underneath, then the feet were removed, and finally the hakama was torn from the isolated legs before all the waste was discarded outside. Much to his distaste, he had become finicky ever since becoming a hybrid which was why he regretted firing a cero into Luppi's chest cavity.

Finished with preparations, Grimmjow sidled into the seat and rested his back against the booth with a content sigh. He then picked up one of the appendages and sank his teeth into the dense muscle.

_Spent too much time getting here._

Most of the reiatsu had dissipated from the mutilated body, leaving the former Espada bland and unsatisfying. A meal was a meal though, and Grimmjow had no intention of wasting more than he already had. He continued to eat even when the melancholic energy of his superior invaded his chamber.

"What the fuck do you want?"

Ulquiorra remained impassive as he trespassed into the room and stood with his hands at his side in a somber posture. A moment passed as he quietly observed the phenomenon playing out in front of him.

"Barbaric," he commented, reaching out for a polished bone and skimming over the smooth surface with a porcelain thumb. "Aizen-sama has requested that you report to the medical ward for a thorough examination of your regenerated arm." He paused, waiting for an answer. When he received nothing but a mixture of blood and saliva hitting his uniform, he continued. "I'm confused as to why you resort to such primitive practices despite having the ability to engage in activities far more civilized."

Grimmjow looked up from his food, annoyed and seemingly fatigued by the question.

"Civilized by whose standards, Aizen's?" he retorted coolly, making eye contact for a brief second before eying the other leg. "If you were still an Arrancar but had never been influenced by those Shinigami, would you still give me shit about this?"

"I wasn't aware that you had the capacity for philosophy," Ulquiorra replied in his usual monotone. A thoughtful expression marred his previously undisturbed features as he considered the question. "Perhaps not, but why would you persistently eat other Hollows when you are aware of an alternative?"

"An alternative from another species."

"Irrelevant," the Cuarta muttered. "We no longer need to cannibalize in order to survive, and yet more than half of the Espada still feed on Hollows when Aizen-sama has offered us better."

"Why's it better, 'cause he says it is? You should try thinking for yourself every now and then and stop believing everything the Shinigami tell you," Grimmjow spat between mouthfuls of thigh meat. "We ain't like them. They say we're half and half, but we're not. We'll always be more Hollow, always. Eating human or shinigami food goes against our nature. Our bodies are made for eating each other. You can eat as many harvested animals as you want, but I know you still want something with high reiatsu levels. An Arrancar eating human food is like a bat trying to eat a steak."

Ulquiorra's eyes narrowed slightly. "Do not assume that you know me, Grimmjow. You may have proven yourself on the grounds of an intelligent discussion, but do refrain from taking such a condescending stance when speaking to me," he asserted dryly, causing his partner in the verbal spar to rise from his seat and approach him with an air of hostility.

"This coming from you?" the Sexta Growled, emphasizing the height advantage he had over his superior by glaring down at him with a challenging gaze. "You come into my territory, criticize me while I'm trying to eat after finally getting my fucking arm back, and you expect me to take your bullshit?" he shouted. The fire in his eyes contrasted the icy blue of his irises as he jammed his finger into Ulquiorra's chest. "That's asking for death."

"How barba-"

The black-haired Espada had planned to continue his retort while dodging Grimmjow's initial attack, but that had proven to be a feint and his carelessness had cost him the structural integrity of his nose. "I see," he murmured, ignoring the blood running down his face as his fragmented bones quickly rearranged themselves into their natural shape.

He agilely evaded the following jab aimed for his jaw and planted his foot into his opponent's midsection, sending him crashing over the table and into the wall.

"I will overlook this today only because it would be taxing if Aizen-sama needed to replace you once more," Ulquiorra droned, looking down indifferently towards Grimmjow's crumpled form. "Remember to visit the medical ward," he added, disappearing with a buzz of sonido before a vice-grip could lock around his neck.

"Bastard!" Grimmjow cursed, displacing a generous amount of stone by punching the wall nearest him. He wasn't injured. He was insulted, and as much as it pained him to admit it, full motor function and reiatsu circulation had yet to return to his left arm. That kind of handicap would have cost him his life if Ulquiorra had fought with the intent to kill. Still, his urge to utterly destroy the Cuarta surpassed any rational thought. However, his retreat had put him outside of the range of his senses. The match was a draw…for now.

He pounded his hands on the table and angrily hurled the remnants of his meal out the nearest window, no longer in the mood for stagnant blood and cold meat. Instead, he strode across the living room and into his bedchamber where he shrugged off his jacket and crossed out onto the adjacent balcony after indiscriminately grabbing one of the many decanters of alcohol imported from the human world shelved next to the exit.

_I wonder if this is hypocritical?_

He exhaled a mild amount of anger into the cold desert air and sucked down the harsh liquid as if it was nothing more than water. It wasn't hypocritical, was it? Alcohol wasn't sustenance. He didn't need it to survive, so that made it exempt from his previous point…or did it? No, he was simply taking advantage of what he had been presented with. He was using it for purposes other than emulation.

Satisfied, he leaned against the railing separating him from a massive drop onto the dome beneath the tower. For a moment, he closed his eyes and felt the cool sand uplifted from the dunes bat against his exposed upper-body.

He wasn't going to the medical ward; he could tell that his arm would be fine thanks to the human girl, and he had no desire whatsoever to be subjected to any of Szayel-Aporro's tests.

But he did need to work off some stress, and drinking alone at night wasn't the way to resolve pent-up aggression.

A small burst of reiatsu from above his quarters told him that some of the other residents of his tower were also weary of Las Noches' tedium.

With a smirk, he returned briefly to his room in order to secure a more social beverage before focusing his reiatsu to his feet and walking sideways up the outside of the tower. It was a longer trek than he would've liked at his casual pace, but he eventually scaled his way up to another veranda.

Once topside, he brushed the silk curtains away from the entrance back inside the tower and padded into an ornate foyer decorated with an array of ivory sculptures and other tasteful artistry.

Tall candles casting dull yellow light were lit around the antechamber, throwing off Grimmjow's sensitive night vision and tickling his nose with floral scents as he stalked across the marble floor. Candlelight flickered over his face while he moved, highlighting his sharp features and giving him a feral countenance. Silently, he stepped through a narrow archway and into the neighboring room, careful not to let the two bottles in his hand touch together and ruin his infiltration.

Upon successfully foraying into the next area, the Espada allowed himself to take in the layout of the baroque-styled accommodations. Everywhere he looked there were fine rugs and other décor complementing the dim nocturnal ambience. He was in a parlor now, adorned with luxuriant furnishings similar to his own quarters.

The excess sickened him.

In the center, there was a circle of reclined chairs arranged purposefully with communal affairs in mind. Within that circle, four figures sat idly, mostly unaware of Grimmjow's approach.

"Impressive," a breathy female voice praised from its speaker's position atop an elegantly simple begère.

"Huh, did you say something, Harribel-sama?" Apache called out from the other side of the arrangement. If her voice was any indication, the heavy lavender musk permeating the Tercera's abode had enervated her completely.

"To think you could hide your reiatsu at such a close distance," the dark-skinned woman continued, dog-earing her book and setting it down on a nearby coffee table before folding her arms loosely over her chest. Her vague comments served to rouse the rest of her Fraccion as well, causing them to correct their posture and look confusedly around the room for a sign of whatever she was talking about.

"Do you intend to crouch there much longer?"

"Damn it!" Grimmjow swore half-heartedly, breaking into a cackling laugh when three surprised shrieks resounded off the walls. Trademark smirk set firmly in place, he stood from his hiding spot behind Mila-Rose, ruffling her hair much to her chagrin, and taking up a seat next to Harribel. "What gave me-"

"Oi!" Apache roared, refusing to heed Sun-Sun's whispered advice as she rose from her chair to confront the would-be intruder. "What the hell's your problem? You can't just sneak in here like that."

Beside her, the other girl buried her face in her sleeve. Honestly, how far did her sister think her authority extended?

"You don't see us breaking into your room and wandering around," the tirade continued, with Mila-Rose looking as if she would have joined in if she hadn't noticed the darkening cyan eyes that Apache was dangerously oblivious to. She'd had enough experience with the Sexta to become familiar with the fact that his brutality was often spontaneous enough to the point where it seemed random. If he was in any way given the impression that someone weaker than he thought themself superior, then he would normally crush them without a second thought. Luckily for Apache, though, she had some leeway under Harribel's protection and so probably wouldn't die…probably.

"It ain't like you're not good company half the time but-"

"Shut up, bitch." Grimmjow ordered gutturally, halting the blue-haired Fraccion mid-sentence. A lump had abruptly formed in her throat, rendering her unable to speak. The only thing she could do was meet his cold, intimidating stare for a split-second before casting her eyes downward in submission.

The parlor was then submerged in a threatening silence until two strings of stifled laughter blew the tension to hell.

"Fuck both of you," Apache muttered off-handedly toward her sisters as she returned to her seat, refusing to even look at the mirthful expression Grimmjow was giving her.

"Ladies, be civil," Harribel requested, immediately quieting the room to provide a better atmosphere for her reading. "I thought I had made it clear that Grimmjow is our respected guest and that he may come and go as he pleases so long as he respects the rules of my territory. I expect you to treat him well."

"Yes, Harribel-sama." the trio affirmed in unison with bowed heads.

"Give 'em a break, Tia. We're just playing around," Grimmjow stated dismissively as he produced four saucers from his pocket and distributed them around the room, excluding the Tercera who would forever remain sober. All the while, he ignored the whispered rebuttal and the chastisement for addressing his superior by her first name. It didn't bother him; he'd known the woman for over a century and made of her what humans might call a 'friend'. Her name was Tia Harribel and he'd call her whatever the hell he wanted to.

"Think fast," he hailed to the victim of his previous terrorizing, tossing a jug of chilled sake directly at her face. After narrowly averting her face, it was caught deftly by the already-irate Fraccion. "Pour for us, will ya?"

"What do I look like, your fucking servant? Pour your own damn drink!" Apache huffed, reeling her arm back in preparation for a throw that would have resulted in her being torn to pieces had a dark-skinned hand not softly clasped her shoulder. Knowing full well that she was on thin ice, she spun around and caught her mistress' half-lidded gaze, stammering a quick apology. As most others were, she was helpless against Harribel's eyes which tended to convey all of her emotions in place of her veiled features. Like the sea, they could quickly change from serene to rancorous, complementing her character and vast power.

"In war," the female Espada began, her even-tempered voice evaporating the anger out of her subordinate, "if you let the enemy goad you into attacking and lose your senses, you will die." She gently guided Apache's arm down to her side and returned to her seat where she popped her book back open. "Remain calm. Use your emotions only to your advantage, and guard yourself against manipulations. Now, I believe Grimmjow deserves your recognition for what is sure to be a future improvement in your temperament."

Apache whipped her head to the side in disbelief and watched the Sexta as he suddenly found great interest in his empty saucer.

_You can't be serious._

There was no way he hadn't been simply instigating her for the fun of it. Studying his eyes, a mild wave of awe struck her when she noticed them to have once again become frozen over, distant and ancient. She'd seen him with that look several times before, and it was only on those rare occasions when she could foster her respect for him. Apache was aware, somewhat, of his history thanks in part to Harribel who had disclosed it with his permission. He was known to toy, known to instruct through roundabout means on a whim, and he was far older and more deserving of her fear than she had first thought.

"Don't worry about it. I don't think you'll ever be able to piss me off enough for me to kill you," Grimmjow chuckled, enjoying the sight of his favorite hothead pouring his drink with domesticated acquiescence. He brought the dish to his lips, smiling as he drank after he caught wind of a barely suppressed, 'I hate you'.

"I know ya do."

Once all who were participating had their saucers filled, Apache sat back down. She took a long swig directly from the bottle. And it was a good thing she managed to swallow most of it because the remainder dribbled out of her mouth when a hard object landed on her stomach. "If you aren't drinkin' for fun, then you can have that," the bane of her existence quipped.

Showing extreme restraint in mind of Harribel, she ignored the urge to release her Resurreccion and checked the second bottle's contents first with her eyes and then her nose.

It burned like hell, just the kind of thing she was craving at the moment.

"Whatever," she growled, content to sip on the new substance until she could no longer care about Grimmjow's attempts at getting a rise out of her. She'd be lying if she said she didn't sometimes get some cheap fun out of their mock confrontations, but that didn't mean she particularly liked all the physical and mental abuse that came with them.

With that, the next few hours went by smoothly. The initial enmity was drowned in alcohol and even Harribel seemed to appreciate the sociality of her company whenever she spared a couple of words on a topic relevant to her interests. Though eventually, it grew late in Hueco Mundo's abstract sense of time, and the Fraccion one-by-one went their separate ways to either prepare for bed or simply have some time to themselves, leaving only the two Espada in the parlor.

Once she was sure the others were gone, Harribel marked her page and folded up her publication. "Sorry to have kept you waiting," she started, signaling Grimmjow to get to his feet as she sat up. "I want to speak with you."

Instantly, his laid-back demeanor shifted into something solemn and reserved. "I was wonderin' why you didn't throw me out of here for being such a bastard to your servants."

"They are companionable adherents," the Tercera corrected. "And they are more than capable of handling themselves. I try to refrain from being overbearing."

"You shouldn't attach yourself to them, Tia."

Harribel paused inside the foyer and took a long breath of the lavender-rich air before meeting her acquaintance with a single aqua-colored eye. "I am aware of that," she whispered, a hint of sadness in her voice. "Enslaved soldiers of fortune should not anchor themselves to the weak, but…I can't keep myself from valuing each of them more than I would like to. It's because of these-"

"Human emotions," Grimmjow finished knowingly. He understood that some Arrancar had inherited a full range of emotions while some, such as he, only inherited the more primal and reptilian-brained. "If you want to survive being expendable under Aizen, then you'll need to stay in control no matter what happens to them. Ya hear me, Youngblood?"

The blonde smiled under her collar at the mention of her private nickname. "I won't abandon them, but I won't lose myself."

Grimmjow sighed and rubbed the back of his head in defeat. "Good enough, I guess. So what'd you want to talk about?"

"Outside." The location meant that this was something not meant for Aizen's ears.

Both hybrids brushed past the silk curtains and took up similar poses at the edge of the balcony. For a while they stood there, neither one making an effort to even acknowledge the other. It wasn't necessary for the time being. They simply watched the inverted moon together, too high to be bothered by sand and too old to find entertainment in Hueco Mundo's perpetual night.

Surprisingly, Harribel was the first to speak.

"I could tell that you had a fight with Ulquiorra earlier," she announced delicately, still facing outward unto the colorless desert. "Why?"

"He pissed me off and I was trying to eat."

"Who would have won?"

…

"I see," Harribel said with a long exhalation, bringing her long lashes together in disappointment.

Grimmjow was agitated now. He couldn't see where this discussion was going nor why it needed to be kept secret, but his already low patience was wearing thinner. "You fought him for your rank, right? Be honest, Tia, is he stronger than me?" he asked bluntly, venom dripping from his tone.

"Yes." The word left her lips as if it physically harmed her to say it. "But you know why that is. Something beyond your control kept you from what you were born to become, and so you are weaker than him." Harribel had brought him down kindly, she knew it. He deserved that much. "I won't pretend to know what you've gone through and what you must feel every time you're reminded of what happened, but I believe that an opportunity for you to obtain what you lost a hundred years ago is here in Las Noches. That is what I want to talk to you about."

This was something she would need to handle carefully. Her idea was plausible at best, highly risky on multiple levels, and it would all count on Grimmjow. She looked over to him. As she would have expected, his face was unreadable even for her. It was likely that he had already figured out what she was going to propose. It was the product of a collection of restlessly vagrant thoughts that had come about after learning of Las Noches' newest pet's abilities.

"That girl, the one who regenerated your arm, I suspect it's possible that she could undo your transformation and possibly the damage to your mask."

"Impossible," Grimmjow dismissed without even a second of consultation. "Even if she can do what Aizen said and 'reject' events, we're talkin' 'bout going back a century. It took about thirty seconds for something that happened a couple of days ago. At a thousand years old, Tia, I sure as hell know the difference between a couple of days and a hundred years. Think about how long this would take if it's even possible."

Harribel said nothing in rebuttal. Instead, she walked towards the railing and gradually unzipped her mod jacket. Upon reaching the sandstone ledge, she turned, revealing her mask fragment to the man behind her in a sign of respect: a wordless plea to consider her plan more thoroughly.

"Aizen also believes that the strength of her power is affected by her conviction. If you can sway her, then she may be able to do it in as little as a single night or perhaps even several hours. But you have to make her want to trust and assist you."

Grimmjow pondered the new information, a pensive expression overtaking his frustration. "Why me? She'd probably get attached to you or even Starrk before me. I don't mix well with humans."

"I know you don't. Still, the fact remains that she has to want to help _you_," Harribel said earnestly.

"Fine. Fine, she's a human girl; it shouldn't be too hard, but what do we do after that? Aizen'll probably have me wasted if he finds out I've miraculously regressed back into an Adjuchas."

"That's why we will change you back and evolve you in a single night."

Grimmjow was stunned. His previous calm disrupted by shock, he approached the female Espada and speechlessly demanded how she could accomplish something so ludicrous.

"The Octava has been farming Hollows of his own creation, mindless things built and raised purely for consumption. They are simply masses of reiryoku. If things go well and I am able to obtain a fair amount of them, we will change you back to the pre-evolved state before your mask was broken and then feed you those synthesized Hollows until you transform. We will do this when Aizen and the Overseers are asleep, giving us roughly six hours," Harribel explained, relieved and confident that her plan was agreeable.

The break in the conversation was as if the Sexta didn't even consider his response.

"Tia, that's insane." Grimmjow let his signature smirk grow wider than usual, splitting his face mask to ear. "We're riding on so many if's that I don't even know why I think this can work. Hell, Aizen might not change me back into a hybrid even if I do manage to evolve."

"He will turn you and keep you. It would be unbelievably foolish to kill or release you after you've reached your full potential," Harribel assured, barely trying to stifle the vague undercurrent of excitement in her voice. "We'll start tomorrow if you agree to do this. I'll give you until the 'morning'. As for now, I will be visiting Starrk's tower to inform him. You're welcome to stay in my territory as long as you do nothing against my Fraccion's will."

At that, Grimmjow's lips spread even farther apart. "Just one question, why are you doing this for me?" he asked candidly, watching as Harribel stepped atop the railing. "I mean, we like each other, and we've been through a lot together, but neither of us would put our necks on the line for one another like this out of the goodness of our hearts."

The superior-ranked soldier scoffed in amusement from her perch. "I thought it would be obvious…" She dove off, trusting the harsh desert winds to carry every Hollow's ultimate wish to the other Arrancar's ears.

"…To survive."

It was a better reason than any other.

* * *

She wished he would hurry up already.

Undoubtedly, whatever he was talking about with her mistress was important, but snakes were cold-blooded. That meant she was constantly frigid in her nocturnal, sunless desert environment. Of course the actuality of her cold-bloodedness had been endlessly disputed between she and her sisters, and Szayel-Aporro had yet to mention it during any of her physiological examinations. However, that didn't mean the possibility should be ruled out.

The point was that she was cold, and she'd rather be warm. Preferably with the aid of a certain azure-haired panther.

_Honestly, he usually has such good manners when it comes to cultured women._

As if by some obscure summons, her door creaked open.

Grimmjow entered Sun-Sun's room noiselessly and surveyed the immediate vicinity. The reishi lamps had all been turned low, blanketing the chamber in a soft, ethereal aquamarine. In the center of the paltry glow, past arrangements of tall, narrow, and overall uncomfortable looking furniture, he noticed his item of the evening laying in her bed. Head turned mostly into the pillows, she wasn't fooling anyone. He could see her breath escape her at a frequency far too fast for slumber. He could hear her heartbeat, too loud and excited. And most importantly, he could smell her premature arousal: a heavy fragrance that bathed the room with carnal lust.

He could play her games if she wanted. He had all night.

Furtively, he crept across the floor and mounted her mattress with catlike grace before slowly making his way over to her still form. Once at his destination, he planted his hands on either side of her and leaned down to bury his nose in her olivine hair. His actions elicited a heated giggle from beneath him. Looking down, he noticed that a long sleeve had obstructed his view of Sun-Sun's lower face.

"What are you wearin' clothes in bed for?" Grimmjow grumbled, half-annoyed and half-entertained as he settled down next to the Fraccion and met her coral eyes with his own electric blue.

"I was cold, and Grimmjow-sama was taking too long with Mistress. If I wasn't aware of Harribel-sama's preferences, I would be jealous," Sun-Sun replied, a slight tinge of playful humor in her voice. "Speaking of which, where is she? Her reiatsu left my range a little while ago?"

"Gonna miss 'er? Sorry, woman. You're gonna have to make do with only me tonight," the elder Arrancar countered coolly, expertly changing the subject.

"Don't talk nonsense," Sun-Sun breathed warmly, lifting herself up to allow easier access while Grimmjow lazily undid the zipper to her dress and quickly discarded the garment into some soon to be forgotten location. "I like being handled by a man much more than a woman." Even without her clothes, she already felt much hotter under the unwavering molten gaze that the Espada kept fully trained on her as he undid his hakama and propped Pantera against the wall.

She shivered when he pulled her flush against his naked body and began trailing firm bites along her collarbone, moving up until he finally devoured her mouth with his own. As a testament to his nature, he quickly subdued her waiting tongue, keeping it locked on her side of the kiss. He was on top on top of her, domineering, only allowing her the freedom of moving her delicate fingers through his hair and raking her nails down his back.

Soon, his hands found her breasts and began roughly massaging the soft flesh, causing a welcoming hum to reverberate through their conjoined mouths. He let out a muffled chuckle as he began experimenting with the different sounds he could create by pinching her nipples and carving shallow cuts into her bosom with his clawlike fingernails. After a particularly loud set of pleasured squeaks, Grimmjow slid his left hand down Sun-Sun's abdomen as his right continued its assault. He arrived at her thighs to find them clamped together in mock defiance which was quickly overcome by spreading them apart with his thumb and forefinger.

With all the subtlety of a train wreck, he swabbed a finger over her sex and broke the marathon kiss with a laugh. "Wet already, woman? Ain't you got any self control?" Grimmjow chastised, rising above Sun-Sun who managed to scramble the decency to blush. He smirked lasciviously at the sight of her blood running down her bare chest and into the hole in her sternum.

"Not like I can help it," the serpentine woman moaned, gripping the back of Grimmjow's head and enjoying the feeling of his rough tongue dragging across her bust to mop up the crimson ichor. However, when he lingered at her nipples and her eyes rolled back down, she had to stifle a gasp at what had become of her lover. "You haven't been eating properly," she scolded, cold once again from the primal chill surging up her spine after coming face to face with a pair of burning sapphire eyes. "You're going feral."

It was true. Arrancar didn't necessarily require the consumption of Hollows to survive, but it was common amongst traditionalists like Grimmjow who boycotted human food to become bloodlusted after periods where the quantity of reiryoku consumed wasn't enough to satisfy periodic hunger. That was what he was experiencing now, illustarated by his visible change in eye color. Luppi's dry corpse hadn't done much to steer him away after neglecting to eat subsequent his many missions to the Living World, and the spiritual energy in Sun-Sun's blood had sparked his appetite.

"Nothin' to worry about," Grimmjow abolished, catching his own cyan sclera reflected in his consort's eyes. "I got better things to do than lose my mind and besides, you've let me eat you plenty times in the past."

"You're lucky I'm a-" Sun-Sun's voice hitched as her superior's canines sank into the junction between her neck and shoulder, sucking the very life from her soul, "masochist," she finished, reaching down and guiding Grimmjow into her, enjoying the harmony of pleasure and pain as he began thrusting in tune with her grinding hips. Their pace quickened after synching with each other and establishing a mechanical rhythm, joining their bodies together with force beyond mortal capabilities.

Eventually, the female Arrancar abandoned her attempts at keeping up with him. The haze clouding her mind from her power being drained in addition to sensory overload kept her from performing as well as she would have liked. Instead, she relinquished all control and fell into total submission.

Grimmjow pounded her against the headboard of the bed, sending Pantera skidding to the floor beside the couple while they filled the room with a chorus of animalistic growls and other utterances. Eventually, he had pushed her to the point where she had to sit up in order to prevent her head from being rammed through the wall, allowing him to hit her deeper and at an angle that made her shudder and constrict around him every time he entered her in order to provide as much blissful friction as possible.

Sun-Sun's eyes had once again lost their level and moved up to the ceiling as her breasts bounced modestly to the inhuman tempo of Grimmjow's excessive abuse. She was getting close and she could feel that he was as well. Next thing she knew, she had been pried from the wall and thrown back onto the mattress where her hands where positioned over her head in an iron grip. The action had torn the Espada's teeth from her neck, and he was now leaking lifeblood from his open maw down into her waiting lips. He lunged into her, dedicating one arm to securing her and the other to reach below her arching back and rectify her unresponsive behavior by forcing her backside up as he thrusted forward.

The sound of skin smacking together replaced the once-abundant moans and snarls when Grimmjow enveloped Sun-Sun's mouth - a sign that he was fast approaching release. He abandoned binding her hands, allowing her to grasp his back in return for the choking grip he had wrapped around her throat, cutting of her air supply completely at the moment of her orgasm.

With a ragged cry, she tightened around him as she herself lost control from being so close to death. Completely unaware that her eyes had glazed over with a viridian sheen, she rode the waves of gratification and felt him explode inside her, extending her own climax while the two vigorously hammered their thighs together until the space between them was thinner than air.

After what seemed to them like an indefininite length of time, they slowly descended until they were no longer moving. They remained still save Sun-Sun's small quakes of ecstasy, and even those stopped before Grimmjow peeled himself off of her, finding twisted amusement in the sound that their sweat and her blood had produced. He laughed and she joined him when her throat recovered from the verge of being crushed.

Their mirth didn't go without an interruption.

"Oi, would you two shut the fuck up!"

Apache stood in the doorway, pink dusting her cheeks as she came across the sight before her. "For fuck's sake, you're gonna bring the whole tower down," she amended sheepishly, growing agitated by pair of identically incredulous stares aimed her way.

"You were standing out there for a full five minutes before you came in," Sun-Sun pointed out blandly. "Why can't you take a hint like Mila-Rose and leave us alone if you're going to be such a downer." She herself was a bit miffed at the intrusion in addition to her lack of a sleeve to hide her face behind. She couldn't be nearly as scathing without it.

"That stupid Gorilla's so drunk that she slept through it," Apache blurted out, hoping to dodge the previous observation. "And what's up with you both looking like that? Have you two been starving yourselves or something? You're both feral!"

It wasn't possible; Grimmjow had already picked up on what her sister had noted. "You were just sitting out there before ya came in? The hell's your problem? If you want to join, then just come in. Neither of us care if you want to get in on it." He watched with great interest as the younger Fraccion went through what seemed to be her entire emotional spectrum before she stiffened up completely straight when Sun-Sun suddenly appeared behind her and snaked her hands along her moderately curvaceous body.

"Oh," she exhaled sultrily into Apache's ear, "was that it? Were you cold also, Apache-chan?"

"Shaddup, and don't call me that! I hate that damn little sister shit!" the mortified Arrancar shouted feebly, doing her best to shake away Sun-Sun but failing miserably. Alcohol didn't agree with her as well as the other members of her tower. Within seconds, the older girl had violated both her jacket and hakama, simultaneously stimulating her breasts and growing wetness.

"No use lying, youngblood. I can smell you gettin' hot over there," Grimmjow chided, his glowing blue eyes teeming with mischief. "Join us or don't, your call. Either way, I'm far from stopping. So what's it gonna be, you comin' in here or you trying to sleep with the ceiling falling down on your head?" He snickered when all he received was a defeated yet satisfied groan. "Glad to hear it, now take off your fucking uniform before I shred it."

Sun-Sun let loose a string of giggles at her fellow subordinate's reaction to the order and assisted her with loosening her sash and top before letting the cloth pool up by her feet. Eagerly, she guided Apache over to the blood, sweat, and orgasm stained bed, kicking off the top sheet and setting her down. She sidled next to her and played with her larger assets with enthusiasm as she kissed her neck gently, easing her into a much more agreeable state of mind. Once that was accomplished and her rage had been replaced with lust, Sun-Sun shot a devious smile over to Grimmjow who took the hint and lowered his head between the girl's legs. She had to give him credit; he was good at what he practiced. Within seconds, he had Apache pushing herself into his tongue, breathing heavily and radiating the need for satisfaction.

She just hoped that she wouldn't get too much attention. All the activity had caused her to be reignited with desire to have Grimmjow once more, but all that seemed to be put on hold when Apache grabbed her chin and pulled her in for a tender kiss.

Sun-Sun smiled through the affectionate contact, passionately mingling her tongue with the other woman's and then pulling away to stretch a gossamer string of red saliva courtesy of previous puncture wounds to her lips.

Suddenly Grimmjow didn't seem to be an immediate concern. He was far from being anything other than a necessity, but one thing was for certain…

This was going to be fun.

* * *

Several hours later, Grimmjow reclined back onto what was quite possibly the only pillow that wasn't coated with some kind of bodily fluid and stared up with a blank expression on his face. Idly, he noticed how the reiatsu lamps' fluctuations had yet to create any moving shadows. Beside him, Apache had dropped out a couple rounds ago. Now, she was sleeping curled up and almost on top of his chest, exhibiting the most serene look he'd ever seen on her face. On the other side, Sun-Sun was panting from sheer exhaustion and most likely blood loss. She heaved up and down from her spot next to her superior, worn but completely satiated.

She nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

The Fraccion was in love with him. He knew it, yet he couldn't understand it. It wasn't strange for Arrancar to engage in sexual activities, but for most, like him, they were simply acts of pleasure-seeking hedonism and more of a pastime than anything else. That was not the case for her. She was constantly lingering around, displaying odd affections that he didn't know how to handle. The only things he knew about love was what he had found through reading, and it annoyed him that it's prerequisites for establishment were about as solid as air.

Sun-Sun seemed to be meeting what little concrete criteria he'd been able to research which was surprising. As a non-Hougyoku Arrancar, it would be exceedingly rare for her to harbor those sorts of feelings. Nevertheless, she routinely made empty contact with him, draping herself over him when they sat near each other, kissing him outside of sex, and doing other small, fruitless things that held no bearing with him. It wasn't as if he didn't enjoy it from time to time as they often led to a trip to one of their beds if they should make it that far, but it grated on him a little. If his annoyance ever outweighed his enjoyment of her affections then he'd make her stop even if Harribel had to try and punish him for showing her to her place.

Speak of the devil.

A calm tempest of reiatsu entered the room and stood at the foot of the bed, scrutinizing the scene of carnal indulgence. "I caught the scent of blood," Harribel announced, her aqua-colored orbs moving across the chamber. "I assume this was all consensual."

"Of course, Mistress." Sun-Sun mumbled tiredly, unable to face the Tercera. She smiled to herself, content with the protection Harribel provided for her.

"Very well then," the blonde sighed. She couldn't bring herself to understand why anyone would subject themselves to such torture let alone how they could want it. Regardless, a checkup wasn't why she was there; she knew that Grimmjow respected the rules of her territory. He wouldn't outright go against them and attack her companions, she knew that. It was just that a plausible excuse had been needed to enter the room in order to put on a show for Las Noches' security personnel.

That accomplished, she left and revealed a hastily scribbled note on the back of the door.

_Starrk will speak with you tomorrow._

None of the cameras would have been able to read the text. It was scrawled at a nearly impossible small size. Only someone with vision trained from hundreds of years of hunting in the overwhelming blackness of the Menos Forest would have been able to make it out.

Grimmjow didn't know what to make of the message. Things were already coming together, and he hadn't even completely agreed to the whole idea yet. Without his inborn sense of self-preservation, he would have been onboard in a heartbeat, but the risks were far too heavy to be taken lightly. Aizen would not tolerate conspiring and the misuse of his prisoner even if it gave him the strongest soldier he had ever acquired. And it wasn't as if he could just tell him the idea either. It would be seen through instantly as the affront to his power that it was, and all he would say was sure to be something along the lines of, 'I can't risk the life of an Espada over such a fragile theory'. He'd shoot down the plan immediately and probably increase surveillance on every party involved with the notion if not punish them severely through some roundabout method.

On the other hand. If he did go ahead with it, then he could achieve the ability to better protect himself against the upcoming war. He wasn't blind; he could see that even the top three Espada were expendable when it came to Aizen's ultimate goal. Anything lesser was just fodder.

He wasn't afraid of death, but he'd be damned if he met his end due to some other man's insane ambition.

If he evolved, then he could have a better shot at shaping his own fate, even more so if Aizen reused the Hougyoku on him as Harribel so firmly believed he would. He could make his own path, one to freedom that the others of his pack could follow. Should all go as planned, he could even rise to rival Aizen in terms of sheer strength as improbable as that may have seemed. Initially, it felt impossible, but the thousands of what 'if's' rebounding off the walls of his mind weren't going to be ignored.

If only to risk his life on a dream…

He'd do it. After all, he was in a situation where he could either die on his knees or, if the plan failed, his feet. The possibility of his survival postwar at his current power level was next to none. That settled it. Grimmjow would claim his natural born right and reach the pinnacle of evolution.

Next to him, Sun-Sun stirred, sensing her lover's restlessness.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked groggily.

"The future," replied Grimmjow pensively.

"Can you afford to?"

When she would go and boldly say things like that, Grimmjow had to give the inferior hybrid a small semblance of respect. She knew as well as he did that they were doomed, and it had been out of that despair that she had found him. The statement didn't imply that he was weak like he would have suspected had he not known her so intimately. It was her way of berating him for daring to focus on anything but the present in favor of a time when he most likely wouldn't exist.

The hell he wouldn't.

"We'll see."

* * *

Author's Note:

Good, bad, leave me alone? Tell me in a review.

So yeah, the theme for this story is going to be freedom and free will if you haven't picked up on that already. The GrimmxHime pairing is going to take a realistically long time to develop and like I said, there really isn't going to be any ideal romance in this fic at all.

A lot plot missing from the past regarding motivation but I assure you that it will be explained. I'm not one to leave important things like that in the dark.

Eh…not much else to say. Have any questions? Send me a message.

By the way, I'll be pulling a JasoTheArtisan (who writes excellent Grimmjow if you're interested) and using a song as the basis of this (maybe more) chapter. It was playing when I finished it and I thought it fit perfectly.

**Ozzy Osbourne - Desire**

_I always knew what I wanted to be_  
_I knew for sure, I knew for sure_  
_Always knew it was them or me_  
_I wanted more, more and more_  
_It's all right, it's O.K._  
_None of them people gonna take it away_  
_They don't know like I know_  
_And I can't stop 'cause it drives them crazy_

_It drives them crazy, 'cause I won't be cool_  
_It's too late baby_

_It's the same old desire_  
_Nothing has changed, nothing's the same_  
_Burning like fire_  
_Don't you ever take my name in vain_

_Always moving, somewhere else to be_  
_Moving on, moving on_  
_Scream at you and you scream at me_  
_Right or wrong, right or wrong_  
_It's all right, it's O.K._  
_No one's ever gonna take us away_  
_'Cause they don't know like I know_  
_I gotta keep rockin', 'cause it makes me crazy_

_It makes me crazy, who needs to be cool_  
_Life's amazing_

_It's the same old desire_  
_Crazy train, crazy train_  
_Burning like fire_  
_Don't you ever take my name in vain_

_It's the same old desire_  
_Nothing has changed, nothing's the same_  
_Burning like fire_  
_Don't you ever take my name in vain_

_Same old desire_  
_Crazy train, crazy train_  
_Burning like fire_  
_Don't you ever take my name in vain_


	2. Soledad

The inverted moon shone brightly over the monochromatic sea of sand beneath, casting shadows that had neither lengthened nor shortened since the conception of Hueco Mundo itself. All was still. No wind blew; nothing fought, and nothing killed in the witness of the pale moonlight, thus the ethereal landscape remained largely undisturbed.

Time passed, and out from the surface of a small dune in the shade of one higher crawled a masked lizard of comparative stature to its earlier dwelling. Tentatively, it flicked its forked tongue several times in quick succession, scanning the still umbra for the scents of nearby predators. Finding nothing within immediate range, it began ingesting the atmospheric reishi.

Once having eaten its fill, the Hollow creature walked languidly along the edge of his dune's slipface. It stopped when it came across a tall crystalline tree poking out at odd angles from the sand. The lizard rested there, content that no other animal would be able to detect it.

There was a strange sound akin to the grinding of rock.

A small shard of quartz fell from the tree and severed the lizard's tail from its body. It bled but made no motion to move away from the site of its grave injury. Instead, it waited patiently and the bleeding stopped. Slowly, its tail began reforming and steadily grew back until it was in pristine condition.

Upon recovering, the creature maneuvered around the crystal fragment embedded in the ground and devoured its detached appendage.

Promptly, the lizard increased in size and wandered off in the direction of the larger dune.

He couldn't breathe.

* * *

Grimmjow awoke with a start. He felt a weight atop his stomach, and his mouth refused to obey his commands to intake oxygen. Something was on top of him, smothering him. He bolted upright and slammed the aggressor on its back as he held its throat with one hand and charged a cero in the other.

Smiling back at him, Sun-Sun began giggling girlishly at her superior's bewilderment while she peeled his slackened grip away from her. "Evening, Grimmjow-sama," she greeted. Without warning, she brought herself back to him and pressed her lips once more against his. Much to her disappointment, her bedmate didn't respond in kind and opted to shrug her away from him before eyeing her dangerously.

"The fuck's your problem, woman? Spend so much time around me that you gotta play with your life to get off?" he growled, hiding his amusement at the sheer gall of the Fraccion.

"Of course not," Sun-Sun answered with mock offense playing out under a set of mischievous coral eyes. "I just…" she let the sentence linger as she slithered across the sheets and maneuvered her lithe form until her head rested on Grimmjow's bare chest, "wanted to wake you with something different. It's awfully boring when I get up and you're already gone or you leave without saying anything. Is it too much to ask for you to stay in bed…" idly, she traced her fingers across his abdominals, filling in the carved swathes of solid muscle, "a little…" she stretched upward and planted a chaste kiss on his mask fragment, "longer?"

All he had to do was take in the scent of her blossoming lust to contemplate whether or not he should throw his agenda out the window. However, two powerful reiatsu signatures just outside Harribel's living quarters told him that he didn't have the time to indulge in something so trivial.

"Sorry, but I got things to do. Maybe next time," he tiredly dismissed, pleased that his adrenaline was finally wearing off. "Oi, don't make that face. I'll be back tonight. I have the feeling that I'm going to need to work off a lot of stress after this day is through." That seemed to bring up Sun-Sun's spirits. At the very least, it was sufficient to wipe away the pout that previously possessed her mouth, saving her the pain of having it forcefully removed.

"Wake up your sister, and let's get cleaned up. I'm not interested in being seen with smashed-up women."

The olivine-haired girl nodded in confirmation and immediately roused Apache with an unladylike push to her breasts. "Get up, Apache-chan," she cooed in a syrupy tone. "We have to make ourselves presentable before Harribel-sama needs us." Sun-Sun waited a moment for a response. Hearing none, she sighed and administered a less than graceful rap to the other girl's head.

"I'm up, damn it." Apache squawked, sitting upright and fighting the urge to brain the elder Fraccion in retaliation. "Just start the water and let me concentrate on healing. I'll be in soon." She then gave herself a once-over in front of the other two and cursed under her breath. A multitude of lacerations of various depths and a rainbow of bruises littered her body under a coat of dried blood and sweat. "Fuck, Grimmjow. I really have no idea why I put myself through this kind of treatment…ow." Tenderly, she massaged the soft flesh around the dual puncture wounds located at the junction between her neck and shoulder where she'd had her reiryoku drained the night before. "How are my eyes, Sun-Sun? Did he take too much?"

The woman in question turned her attention to the source of the request and studiously examined her eyes, finding them to have a faint vermillion gloss. "Yes, you're going to have to get something to eat in the next day or so. But I'd recommend getting breakfast right after we shower so you can save yourself the trouble of everyone pointing out that you're going feral." She paused. "What about me, how am I?"

"Pretty bad," Apache stated sympathetically, observing the barely transparent sheen of green covering Sun-Sun's sclera. "And of course this bastard here is perfectly fi-" She gestured over to Grimmjow's former position only to find it empty. "Where the hell did he go?" Her answer came in the sound of steady streams of water coming from the nearby bathroom.

"Well, at least he isn't here to reprimand you."

"Shut up."

Giggling all the way, Sun-Sun rose from the bed, internally grimacing at how the blood caked to her body cracked and flaked to floor whilst she entered the bathroom.

Inside, she spotted a tuft of azure hair sticking up from beyond a pane of warped glass. Not bothering to prepare herself beforehand, she proceeded to open the shower door and stepped inside the rather spacious stall.

To her horror, the water was freezing.

"Having trouble?" Grimmjow queried. His trademark smirk was set firmly in place.

"How can you stand it?" Sun-Sun chattered as she scrambled into the corner in order to distance herself as far as possible from the subzero jets of water. Unfortunately, the dry frigid air of Hueco Mundo provided little relief.

"This is nothing compared to swimming in the caverns," the Espada said matter-of-factly. "Ask Tia if you don't believe me."

"You don't need to keep boasting about how you know Mistress better than I do," Sun-Sun murmured sourly.

"Well, you know her body better than I do."

"Jealous?" Apache's voice resounded through the tiled chamber, signaling her entry into the stall and superseding her screech regarding the ice in motion that was the shower water. "Ack, that's cold," she spat shrilly, cowering next to Sun-Sun while Grimmjow scrubbed away the remnants of the previous night without a care in the world. "How the hell can you stand that?"

The Sexta chuckled at the echoed question, continuing to wash specks of blood out of his hair with a lather born only from a bar of soap. "How are you ladies gonna survive the war if you bitch about something like this?" he asked gruffly, ignoring the subsequent reactions of agitation and shame. "It's Tia's fault, you know?" came the mocking transition the Fraccion had come to expect by now. "She's too lax with your training so…" the showerhead unhooked from the wall and the girls raced for the door only to be thwarted by a steel-tendoned arm, "I'll just do it for her."

Tortuous screams and maniacal laughter rang through the entire tower.

* * *

Once he was clean by his standards and through with making wet kittens out of Harribel's servants, Grimmjow quickly dressed in one of the spare uniforms he kept in the Tercera's quarters for such an occasion. He then departed Sun-Sun's room, brushing past an extremely hungover yet humored Mila-Rose who seemed to have trouble getting to her feet due to her mirth and the resulting beatings from two very unhappy women. He enjoyed the show for a brief moment before leaving the trio to have their fun and exiting through the foyer and out onto the marble veranda.

Outside, clouds of reishi had grown threatening overnight, obscuring the moon overlooking the starless sky. A gale had built up as well, kicking up sand all the way to the full height of Las Noches. Normal surface-dwelling Hollows would likely hole up with their packs until the visibility increased and the wind died down.

Grimmjow didn't have to peer over the railing to know that a vicious sandstorm was brewing beyond the dome. However, none of this was his concern. Evolution had already pushed him past the need to worry about something like a duster.

"Took you long enough," Starrk yawned, effectively snapping the former Adjuchas from his musings. The Primera looked more tired than usual and uncharacteristically irritated by his inferior officer's tardiness. Sprawled out on a daybed next to Harribel whom he somewhat resembled with his drooping eyelids, he beckoned Grimmjow with a lazy wave. "Come here. We have a lot to talk about, and I want to hurry up and get to sleep. Unlike you, I wasn't living the high life yesterday. Tia and I busted our asses for hours on end trying to get this thing off the ground for you." He gestured over to Harribel who simply turned a page of whatever she was currently reading.

"Well then, let's get to it since I'm counting on having a lot of work to do today," Grimmjow stated in a neutral tone, pulling up a reclined chair and positioning himself between the two higher ranked soldiers.

Pleased by his cooperation and lack of bickering, they complied in their own fashion: setting down a book and managing to look slightly more awake.

Starrk looked over to Harribel and received an acknowledging nod, confirming that the balcony was a safe area for discussing their conspiracy. "I'll cut to the chase, then, so you can get started. First thing you're going to do is build a good relationship with the human girl. Tia and I have set it up so that you have exactly seven days counting today to interact with her inside her cell without worrying about security."

"Yeah?" Grimmjow quipped incredulously. "And how the fuck did you manage that?"

"Lilynette will be operating from that sector's control room for the duration of the week."

The azure-haired Espada scoffed. "Bullshit."

Brushing past his skepticism, Harribel took over the details, knowing that she would come off as far more convincing. "He was able to persuade Tousen to look at it as a form of punishment for some imaginary act of insubordination. And supposedly, he has allowed this to transpire so long as he performs periodic investigations." She silenced the ensuing string of questions with a suppressive finger in the air. "Starrk has instructed her on how to tamper the audio so that he will not hear you from live feed or playbacks from this week's memory. Not only that, but she is busy preparing a loop of the prisoner's inactivity that will play on the monitor in case Ichimaru or anyone else comes in to check on her."

"But if they check the memory, then they'll be able to see that you were in there," Starrk added gravely. "So we'll be compromised if Fox-Face goes in there and gets nosy, but I doubt that'll happen since that sector's under Tousen's watch. It's a lot less risky than anything else we came up with, so bear with it."

Done with relaying the setup, both the Primera and Tercera waited for the Sexta's reaction.

"It's a close to perfect as I can think of," he admitted, eliciting mirroring expressions of relief from his two accomplices. "But how do you know how the security system works let alone teach someone else how to break it like that," Grimmjow inquired over to Starrk, visibly confounded.

He became even more confused when the shaggy layabout snickered to himself. "I taught myself when I got pissed at Ichimaru for sending a bunch of attendants in every morning to wake me up just for the purpose of screwing with me. One day when he was out, I went into the security office and set up a feed that was recorded when I was in a meeting, so all he sees and hears is an empty room now. Bastard still hasn't figured it out yet."

Grimmjow was impressed and he let it show. "I guess that's it, then? I gotta hand it to ya. You two did your part, and now, I guess, it's time to do mine." He got up to go but decided to entertain one last lingering question. "When exactly are we planning on changing me back into an Adjuchas?"

"As soon as that human agrees to help us," came the solemn reply. "We don't know when this war is going to start, so we can't waste any time."

"Fine by me. I'll just have to get the girl to trust me as soon as I can."

"Just so we're clear, your usual treatments aren't acceptable methods for this operation," Harribel said in her usual breathy articulation, amusing even herself at the expense of one of her exceedingly rare jests.

"Don't bring me down to Spoonhead's level, Tia," Grimmjow snarled half-heartedly as he motioned to jump from the tower. He was about to touch off the ground when a hand firmly grabbed his shoulder. Turning, he met Starrk's steel gray orbs with his own electric blue. "What is it?"

Aizen's top soldier produced a jug of sake and several saucers from his jacket. "You're forgetting one last thing. Might need it if you're going to force yourself to be nice to the woman."

The other Espada let a wide grin play out across his features and settled back into his seat while Harribel quickly gathered her Fraccion and led them into a circle. Dishes were distributed evenly save the two that went to Starrk who was making up for Lilynette.

"Ladies," Harribel announced to her adherents, inaudibly warning them that further fighting between the trio would no longer be tolerated. "It is important for you to realize that conflict can start at any time. Aizen may divide us, sacrifice us, or force us to throw our lives away meaninglessly depending on his true desires. Regardless, with things as they are now, we will most likely all perish in the single decisive battle that is inevitably going to occur between us and the Shinigami." The urgency for them to understand evident in their mistress' usually calm voice shifted the countenance around the Fraccion into one of dead seriousness.

"I want you to be aware that we three, for reasons unique to ourselves, will do everything in our power to see to it that we survive, and that means that we are likely to betray Aizen and possibly leave Hueco Mundo altogether."

Their shock only existed for a short while before all three replied in unison, "Understood, Harribel-sama."

"We serve _you_, Mistress. We go where you go," Sun-Sun tacked on, her head bowed heavily along with her comrades.

"It is your choice to make, but…thank you," Harribel expressed sincerely, her oceanic eyes carrying the emotion that her concealed face could not. With them on board, she elected herself to pour the drinks for the circle - a high honor for her Fraccion.

"To our pack," Starrk toasted, tipping his dual saucers back and gulping down their contents as the others did the same.

"To survival," Harribel declared after proffering a second round.

"To no casualties," amended Sun-Sun.

"To perseverance," Mila-rose uttered enthusiastically.

"To ripping off the fucking heads of whoever tries to stop us," Apache roared giddily.

The Tercera poured the sixth round and all eyes were on Grimmjow as he studied his drink, unaware that his air of narcissism had been worn down into something ancient and hollow.

"To changing our fate." He downed the sake and slammed the dish on his chair's armrest.

* * *

An hour passed and Grimmjow found himself on the ground level of Las Noches, treading through the vacant, colorless infrastructure on his way to the cell. He passed no one, and the sounds of his boots scraping against the bone-white tile were less than companionable. His resolve was deadset. He needed to pull off a perfect first - technically second - impression if this was going to happen quickly. Gait wide, hands in his pockets, and swagger oozing confidence, he rounded one final corner and frowned at the scene before him.

Someone was standing in front of her door.

It was a lesser Arrancar, and its posture stiffened when he sighted the Sexta Espada. The pungent scent of fear and uncertainty radiated off of him, growing more powerful as Grimmjow closed in on him.

"Who ya standing in for?" He had a feeling, and it wasn't going to go well for him if it turned out to be accurate.

"Ulquiorra-sama," the sentry managed to choke out.

_Fuck!_

"Away on a mission?"

Nod.

"Coming back today?"

Another nod.

_Double Fuck!_

"Well, whatever. I don't know what your orders are exactly, but I'm going in so move it," Grimmjow proclaimed brusquely, stopping his advance to the door when he heard a whisper of denial.

"Hm? You say something, Numero?"

"S-sorry Grimmjow-sama, but only Ulquiorra-sama is permitted to see her," the guard stammered meekly, clearly distraught by the predicament he had been forced into.

"Speak up, Numero. It's rude to talk so quietly to a superior officer. I can't even hear you." Grimmjow strode casually over to the doorman, his mouth a taut line as he sidled next to the lesser Arrancar and leaned unceremoniously against the wall. "Well? You've got my attention, youngblood. Say what's on your mind." He watched him sweat from the corner of his eye and the edges of his lips turned ever upwards.

"O-only Ulqui-"

Grimmjow removed his hand from his pocket, hooked it around the sentry's mouth mid-speech, and swatted the guard's lower jaw off his face. "Ain't no place he can go that I can't, kid. You'd do well to remember that" He spit off to the side to emphasize his claim before crouching down next to the writhing form that had once been the Numero. It had covered the bottom portion of its head with its hands, blood seeping through his fingers as he gurgled and drowned on the gushing wound. He was trying to breathe past the flood of crimson ichor, causing it to bubble and splatter upwards in small bursts.

"Looks like you have no regenerative capabilities?" The response was a series of sharp watery gasps. "That's bad; that's real bad for you. What was a weakling like you doing here guarding this door. You're not a guard at all, are ya? You're a deterrent." Grimmjow began lightly tapping the dying man's skull as if to press the revelation into his brain. "Hear that? A deterrent: an obstacle that must be overcome, that's your destiny. Fate posted you here on this door to test whether or not I could get past you, and apparently, your fate has a sense of humor."

The Sexta let out a long exhalation and patted the still-seizing hybrid on the shoulder. "Fate's a bitch, ain't it?" he sighed, sitting down completely and staring at the opposite wall. "Tell you what, I'll share something with you. It's somethin' I've been living by for about a thousand years now. I believe that both you and I have the freedom to do whatever we want, but if we have conflicting interests, then I believe that you have the freedom to try and kill me. Likewise, I have the right to do the same to you. Pretty fair, isn't it?" The body stopped moving and Hueco Mundo's low temperature made quick work of its internal heat. "That's free will, kid. Our world used to work like that but not anymore, does it? Nope, shit happened, didn't it?"

Grimmjow put his hands on his knees and got to his feet. Slowly, he turned his head to the corpse and gazed upon it with pity. "There was no reason for you to die," he started, heading towards the now unrestricted door. "But there was no reason for you to live either. You and I were the same when it came down to that. Thing is, you had fear in your eyes instead of ambition to make something more of yourself, so I did you a favor." He rested his hand on the locking mechanism and closed his eyes as the carcass no longer gave any signs of life.

"You can thank me later."

After licking the gore from his fingers, he entered the cell.

* * *

When removed from all familiarity, the human mind grows fragile, becoming malleable to the touch of a strong will.

And never was there a will more powerful nor a mind more easily subjected to the malevolence of the supremely determined.

Trembling from head to toe, Inoue Orihime cursed whatever unearthily thin fabric comprised the clothes that the emotionless black-haired Arrancar had given her as she pulled her legs into her chest in a desperate attempt to fight off the cold. Soon discovering her efforts to be fruitless, she sighed and propped her chin up between her knees.

She had never felt so alone and detached from what she considered real. She had never felt so…hollow. That, perhaps, was the word she would have used to describe the foreign sensation. It felt as if someone had came along and scooped out her insides without her ever noticing.

Time held no bearing in her current state. Often, she would find herself transfixed for hours on one of the countless intersections of stark white tiles. Senseless, thinking of nothing. Sleep came easily at even intervals, but she could never rest for more than halves of hours at a time. And each time she awoke, a dull headache would greet her as if to remind her that she was not some formless thing between realms of existence. Otherwise, she would truly think of herself as a corpse that had, by some spiritual anomaly, retained its consciousness to some degree.

Over the last few hours, her room had become gradually darker. Now, she could barely make out the shapes of the couch and dining set: the two pieces of modest furniture that kept her room from being absolutely devoid of anything entirely. The wind had picked up as well, breaking the silence of her cell by adding a chorus of demonic howls that ripped at the bars in her window.

She could make out, through the dim luminance, the billowing maelstrom of sand outside as the moonlight refracted from the small divisions of glassware adorning her table. And during the storm's rising, a generous amount of the coarse granules had been blown inside, coating everything in a thin layer of fine dust and battering her fair skin without relent.

Her face unable to bear the sand's full assault, she shifted and hid behind her legs.

This strategy lasted only until the sound of the door unlocking caused her to jolt up in surprise.

Closing the hatch as soon as he was through, Grimmjow entered the cloister and stepped forward to be welcomed by a sickening 'splat'. He let out a long breath and looked down to see that he had lodged his boot inside of a plate of previously untouched food. Luckily for him, it scraped off easily enough on the side of the tray.

"Yo~."

He cast softened eyes over to Orihime who was sitting with her arms hugging her shins against the wall next to the entrance. She had yet to even glance in his direction.

"Hello," she acknowledged weakly.

An inquisitive sniff of the surrounding air revealed her to be fearless and only slightly cautious of his presence. A good start from which to employ his artifice.

Looking around, he took in the surroundings: a couch, a plain rug, a toilet, a small table, and an odd chair. The decor was beyond spartan when compared to what he had become accustomed to. And because of this, one thing was clear.

_Aizen doesn't give a fuck about this girl._

It was the truth. The ruler of Las Noches often went to great lengths to provide unnecessary comforts for his soldiers to reinforce his image as kind and generous. It was the first wall of defense to dissuade any rebellious thoughts that might be aimed towards him and his goal. The fact that the human had no such luxury told him that Aizen had no use for her beyond her life. She was a hostage, a lure and nothing more. Security around her would be looser than expected. Good news.

Now that he knew he would be able to get away with a lot more than anticipated, Grimmjow's spirits had lifted to the point where he could swallow his pride and edit his demeanor to better suit the challenge at hand, which was gaining her trust.

"Thanks for healing my arm," he said roughly, earning his first real look at the girl's stormy brown eyes. "I appreciate it, woman."

"You-you're welcome," Orihime stuttered, delighted surprise evident in her voice. To her, years had flown by since anyone had last reciprocated her actions.

Grimmjow sat down across from her, inadvertently shielding the young healer from the hail of sand coming in through the window. "Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, Sexta Espada. Sorry, but I didn't get your name yesterday." He even went the extra length to tone down his smirk until it resembled more of a crooked half-smile.

"Ah, nice to meet you, Jaegerjaquez-san. My name's Inoue Orihime," The redhead greeted, blatantly excited to have some, any form of pleasant company.

"In Hueco Mundo, we usually call people by their first names, and honorifics make my skin crawl."

Empuzzled, Orihime put her finger to the corner of her lips as she processed the strange custom. "So…" she began hesitantly, "nice to meet you…Grimmjow?"

The Arrancar nodded and the girl smiled a bit. "Nice to meet you, Orihime. How ya holdin' up down here?" he asked with feigned sincerity, ducking his head down to follow her retreating gaze. "Not good, huh? Sorry about that, kid. I know what you're going through, so feel free to let off about it if you want to." Her posture shot back up, and she would've crashed her forehead into his had his reflexes not kicked in and avoided the headbutt that could have been.

"Watch it," Grimmjow chided, barely suppressing the urge to hit her with the blunt side of his sword.

"Sorry!" Orihime blurted out. Embarrassment made for a lengthy gap between what she would say next. "It's just that you said you've been...Ah, maybe I got a little excited."

_Excited?_

"What happened to you? Aren't you important here? Is it because you did something like what you did yesterday?"

Grimmjow's eyes narrowed immeasurably. Luppi's death was a subject that could function as a double-edged blade, either raising or lowering her opinion of him irrevocably. He'd have to play it off in a way that would appeal to her. "One question at a time, alright?" he muttered. Orihime nodded and held her tongue. "And you should forget about what I did yesterday. That bastard needed to die for me, for both of us if you think about it. He had it out for you, ya know?"

"I don't think anybody needs to die in such a way."

The Sexta didn't miss a beat. "Oh? Would you still say that if you knew that I'd killed him because it meant one less powerful enemy I would have to fight when I move against Aizen?" Well, that came out a lot sooner than he had expected, but it had been delivered at a good enough time and in such a way that she would misinterprate it while he maintained the truth in his words.

Orihime felt her jaw slacken and her eyes grow wide at the bold declaration. Then, her shock quickly waned and her muscles tensed. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked, on guard and even a slight bit demanding.

Grimmjow inwardly frowned.

_A moralist and a fool, huh?_

He had already reached the point of no return with this human. There was no longer any room in the conversation for mistakes. Quickly, he needed to think of something that would calm her as well as false aims that would put her firmly on his side of the field. His mind raced. Any further stalling might come off as suspicious; he would need to improvise.

"Alright then, Orihime. I'll go ahead and tell you why I'm here." A good bridge, it bought him some time in addition to making her intrigued. "Thing is, I might need your help soon…real soon. You and I both know that a war is coming, and as it turns out, I don't necessarily support the side I'm fighting for. I think you can understand why someone wouldn't want to fight and die for a man like Aizen, yeah?" He paused to check if she had bought any of it. From the looks of things, all was going smoothly, as he saw comprehension playing out on her face. "I've got some friends too, and we're gonna need you to help us make this work after we switch sides."

Brushing a stray length of auburn silk behind her ear, Orihime took in the information steadily. "But what can I do? I'm just a prisoner here."

Unnaturally sharp canines pierced Grimmjow's growing smile. "Lots'a things. You'd be surprised what you can do. For one, you could vouch for our motives when we finally get out of here. Not much point in surrenderin' if the other side imprisons us as war criminals as soon as we jump ship, right?" Orihime shook her head in understanding and beamed radiantly when she was led to the couch for a more comfortable deliberation. "Keep in mind, that's just one thing, though. If you want to join up with me and the others, then I might have a job for you to make this betrayal of ours go off a bit better for us. The decision's all up to you, though; I ain't going to force you to do anything you don't want to do. I'm not one to fuck over anyone who doesn't deserve it."

Perfect. He'd played as well as he could with so little preparation. All that remained was her answer, and then he could sleep easy next to whichever woman he ended up with after this ordeal.

"I think I need some time to decide. This is all so sudden."

Grimmjow closed his eyes in order to conceal the fury in his electric blue glare. "I understand," he managed to say without sounding outwardly hostile.

_I ain't exactly workin' on a flexible schedule here, bitch!_

"Fair 'nough." He abruptly pointed over to the plate of mashed food and grunted, "You hungry?"

Orihime blinked and sat stock still for a second before registering the sudden question. "Ah, no thanks. I don't have much of an appetite," she dismissed politely, waving her hands in exaggerated motions as if she was shooing the very thought of eating away from her. Her stomach had other ideas, however, which it made known through unnaturally audible growls. Even the wind seemed to let up for a brief period during the protest as the girl blushed and placed her hand over her roaring abdomen. "M-maybe I am after all."

"Then, I'll go get you somethin'," Grimmjow replied immediately, standing up from the couch and heading for the door. He was about to open it when a hand shot out and wrapped around his arm. In a nanosecond, he broke the fragile hold and took up a stance against the woman who dared to touch him in such a combative fashion.

All he met on the other end of his challenge was a pair of pleading chocolate pools.

"Please don't go," Orihime breathed, making up the space that the Arrancar had put between himself and her with a morose pace. "Sorry, but you're the first person who's been nice to me since I came here. I know it's strange and maybe selfish, but I want you to stay a little longer if you can."

Relaxing his pose, Grimmjow scowled and investigated the abnormal specimen of a woman in front of him. He had never once met someone whose mood fluctuated so violently from one side of the spectrum to another, and he knew enough about humankind to recognize that this was not normal behavior. Currently, she seemed a little worn and beaten down, discolored. Walking up to her, she didn't step back as so many others would. Instead, she simply allowed him to lean down and look directly at her with a quizzical evaluation.

Ambition was something she didn't necessarily lack, he deduced upon further investigation of her expression. She wanted to leave Las Noches, of that he was certain. The problem was that she was insecure and rightfully doubted her own abilities. She was resigned to wait idly in a puddle of depression for an opportunity. He could use that to his advantage if he led her to think that he was her only way out.

"You need to eat, Orihime." He retorted sternly, placing his hand reassuringly on her head. "'Sides, you got somebody that'd be sad if you went off and starved yourself, don't ya?"

Images of her friends flashed through the beauty's mind, solidifying her and giving her focus over her misery. "Right," she affirmed. "Just be back soon, okay?"

"Alright."

Grimmjow exited the cell and instantly re-inflated his ego as he whipped his head from side to side to clear the shame of putting himself down to the girl's level. "Fucking hell," he swore, glad to finally put his performance on hold. He was proud that he had surpassed expectations, but now he had to play fetch and get some kind human food from the kitchen in the main barracks.

...Or not.

His cold stare found the lifeless corpse of the doorman which had a short while longer to go before it began disintegrating into reishi. A little revenge for wounded pride had never hurt anyone.

Shouldering the carcass, he broke into a punch of sonido and reappeared in front of Harribel's quarters. Not bothering to announce himself, he strode into the parlor, using the conventional entrance for once, and found it empty except for a unusually offset Mila-Rose.

"What's up with you?"

The Fraccion raised her eyebrows questioningly and pointed to her nose.

Taking the hint, Grimmjow flared his nostrils and took in the various scents floating around the Tercera's abode. Floral candles had been lit as per usual to impede his senses. Today's were Dragon's Blood, a subtle spice that carried undercurrents of amber and vanilla along with rich earthy overtones - his favorite, although he would never admit it. But beyond that, he could plainly identify what had made the Amazoness so miffed. It was the scent of sex.

"So why are you out here?" He probed.

Mila-Rose's pout graduated into a full-blown sneer. "Harribel-sama was pissed about the two of them getting so close to being feral, and I guess one thing led to another when she went in her room to talk to them about it. And you know how she is once she starts, she gets so territorial that she won't let anyone else in."

"No actually," Grimmjow began sardonically, readjusting the corpse on his shoulder. "I don't, because Tia's a dyke."

An awkward silence permeated the room subsequent that little revelation.

"How do you even get that to work with her mask being where it is? Seems like it would be a pain in the ass," the Sexta commented off-handedly.

"You're telling me," Mila-Rose huffed. "So what's the baggage for, and why are you here instead of with that girl?"

At her audacity, Grimmjow's eyes grew twice their normal size. "What the hell do you think you're doing saying something like that here? Nevermind that, why do you even know about where I'm supposed to be?" he seethed, hand flexed to show his claw-like nails.

The resulting laughter wasn't helping him simmer down any.

"Relax," the Fraccion cooed mockingly. "Harribel-sama told us a little bit about what's going on after you left. And I don't know how you haven't noticed but a storm's started, so all of Aizen-sama's surveillance is fried. See for yourself." She lifted up a nearby ottoman, uncovering a small reiatsu-based electronic bug beneath that was undoubtedly on the fritz going by the sparks that were shooting out. "Seriously, though, the sky's wild outside. I've never seen it rain during a sandstorm before. Check it out."

Taking her up on her offer after mollifying his killing intent, Grimmjow led the way into the foyer and stood near the closed balcony doors. Outside, through the glass, Hueco Mundo's eternal night was alive with fluorescent explosions of spirit particles and multicolored streaks of lightning that detonated upon making contact with the swirling dunes below.

"Cool, huh? The reishi's already going crazy even though it hasn't started raining yet. Now, I know you've seen a million of these, but it looks different from so high up," Mila-rose stated in unabashed wonder. "I bet Las Noches will be locked down soon."

A simultaneous realization occurred on that thought. "Shit, Ulquiorra's probably back already," Grimmjow cursed, scrambling back to the living room with the lesser hybrid keeping the corpse from falling to the floor. "Get me a plate, silverware, and a lamp," he commanded, leaving no room for objections. "I'll be right back." A buzz of sonido punctuated his claim, and he soon reemerged with a bundle of cloth under his arm.

"Got 'em."

Expertly, Grimmjow thrusted his hand into the deceased Numero's midsection, pulled out a large organ, and dumped it on the plate. "Cut that up." He wiped off his hand on a nearby cushion and secured the reiatsu lamp as Mila-Rose hacked the meat to strips with Leona, handing it back to him when she was finished. With the preparation completed, Grimmjow gathered energy that would have otherwise been discharged as a cero and heated up the 'food' to a light sear within seconds.

"Alright, I'm goin' back to hook the girl. You can have the rest."

Mila-Rose rolled her eyes. "Yeah, whatever. You just took the best part." She watched the Espada make for the exit with disdain. "And come back later. I need to get fucked by somebody today; may as well be you!"

He was already gone.

* * *

"Delicious!" Orihime chimed as she made short work of the freshly prepared meal. No seasoning, no garnish, but hey, she hadn't eaten in over a day. "Liver's my favorite meat, you know."

Grimmjow bent his head downward, concealing his twisted amusement behind his hand. He hadn't expected this kind of reaction. From his experience, even the majority of Hollows let alone Arrancar - Mila-Rose and himself being notable exceptions - couldn't stand the taste of liver despite it being the most nutritious of all organs. And then some human comes along and not only tolerates it but says it's her favorite. The whole scenario was enough to have him in a fit. Briefly, he wondered what would happen if he told her where it came from. Maybe he'd do it after he exhausted her benefits.

"So all the food and other stuff is imported from my world?" the painfully oblivious woman inquired as she took a heavy gulp from the water that had been brought earlier by the Cuarta.

"Yeah, through specialized garganta," he said quickly in between gagged chuckles. "Aizen's got low-class hybrids in the human world maintaining supply lines and doin' all sorts of crazy shit for him."

Grimmjow lay reclined on the sofa adjacent to the one-seater table as Orihime enthusiastically shoveled in the Hollow entrails, content now that the nutrition had done away with her headache and pale complexion. "Um, you said you were held prisoner like this too?" she questioned straightforwardly, completely unaware that the topic wasn't so innocent. When a minute went by without an answer, she put down her silverware and turned to see if the Espada had fallen asleep.

Far from it; she couldn't see as clearly in the dark as she would have liked to, but she could tell that he had sat up and was looking off to the side.

The aura around the Sexta seemed to part the stray wind around him as his countenance degenerated from lively to solemn. "Long story. You sure you want to hear about it?" he murmured just loud enough to be heard by the bubbly girl across from him.

"Uh-huh. Every time you share a bad experience with someone else, it hurts a little less," Orihime replied sagely, scooting her chair around so that she could ease closer to the now prone form of her confidante on the couch.

"Alright," Grimmjow sighed. With this and the gift he brought in the bundle of silk, he would count the score for his arm settled. "Here goes." His azure orbs seemed to fade to a less vibrant shade of blue as he spoke. "This all happened a little over a century ago, right after the last big war. I was an Adjuchas then, the strongest one. I was a level above every other Menos I fought. The downtrodden became my servants, and together we set out to conquer the world, to become Lordes. Back then, though, we didn't know about the class system. All we knew was that every Hollow had a point where they would stop growing. Well, most of my little group didn't have it in them, so they let me eat their masks."

His voice became strained as if he was warding off slumber, and his fists refused to stop clenching. "That brought me close, real close to evolving. So I went up to the surface around this area to hunt for the last thing I would need. There was a sandstorm then like the one now, and I saw a human-looking shape so I ran after it and tried to eat it. Turns out, it was one the first few times Aizen had come to visit while he was still with the Shinigami. As fate would have it, that shape in the sand was Tousen," Orihime seemed to recognize the name, "who then rips half my jaw off an' throws me in the underground for a hundred years. Never evolved after that, never could with my mask a quarter broken. I was imprisoned for a century, eating dead lower class Hollows until Aizen got the Hougyoku and turned me into what ya see now. Well, that's the shorter version anyhow."

How easy he could make it seem to mix fact with fiction. By now, all he was doing was spoonfeeding her.

And, oh, how she ate it.

"Is that what you want me to do?"

Grimmjow had a hard time veiling his amazement towards Orihime's perceptiveness. Looking over at her, he saw that she was displayed only the utmost sympathy for him.

"I won't pretend that I can relate to or even understand half of what you just said, but I understand that you were suffering a lot more then than I am now. The way you were talking about how you lost your chance at whatever it was you were trying to do…it sounds like it was really important to you. I'm sorry," she said softly. "I feel stupid now for feeling so horrible when I've only been in here for a day when you, you were trapped for a hundred years."

Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Fighting past the illness he received from the pity in her eyes, Grimmjow mentally smirked in triumph. It was true after all; the best way to deceive was with the truth.

"So you figured it out, huh? I'm impressed," he grumbled. "Yeah, I'll be straight with you. I want you to send my body back all the way to how it was before my mask broke. I want to evolve so I can survive this war. I want the power to live the way I want to and make a path for you and the others who are with me to follow out of this place. I want freedom, and I'll be able to give it to both of us if you help me. I take care of my own, Orihime. You do this for me and my pack, and I'll bring you home."

Orihime was taken aback by his passionate proposal. She had come to the conclusion that Grimmjow was a tortured individual who had been too beaten down to talk of something so grandiose, but here he was. His gaze had become wild, boring into her for an answer while his lips had curled into a psychotic grin. It was evident to her that he needed this, and his offer to help her in return was incentive enough no matter how sincere. If she rejected his fate, then she could go home. He would put her in one of those black portals and send her on her way before he absconded from the conflict that was looming over the horizon.

What did she have to lose? Things had become lucid, like she had been elevated to a higher perspective. If she did nothing, then Ichigo and her friends would come for her and subject themselves to fighting an entire military on their home turf. Waiting to be rescued when an opportunity for an alternative that put only her at risk seemed idiotic. Finally, she could fix a mess that she had created all by herself.

"I'll do it," she announced firmly. "I'll help you."

An otherworldly boom of thunder fought to deafen Grimmjow's raucous laughter. His whole body shook in prideful rapture unbeknownst to Orihime who had nearly sprinted to the window in order to check out the storm that had kicked off with a vengeance.

"Wow!" she shouted gleefully. The Auburn-haired girl stretched to the tips of her toes and watched the clouds light up with arcing rainbows of color just as thick, viscous rain began pouring down from the rancorous heavens. "I didn't know this place had thunderstorms."

"They used to happen every five years or so, but they've been going on a lot lately," Grimmjow explained, stalking up next to Orihime after regaining his composure and with it, the personality he had tailored for her. "Anyway, seems like you don't know much of anything about Hueco Mundo, so I brought ya somethin'."

The redhead spun about, nearly headbutting Grimmjow for the second time. "Really?" she exclaimed, mouth held open in a small 'o'. "Let me see!"

She was led over to the couch where Grimmjow picked up the rectangular parcel he had been using previosuly as a footrest and unfurled the linen that kept it bound. Inside was a rather large, old looking tome that read…

_Hueco Mundo and its Inhabitants: A Collection of Observations and Notes Recorded by Various Authors._

"Sounds boring, but it ain't," Grimmjow asserted, setting the book down on the table. "I figured you would need some reading material. Aizen, the Overseers, and most of the Espada have something written in there, so you can have fun seeing what it's like inside the heads of some insane motherfuckers." Orihime giggled a bit. "Here, I found somethin' on the storms." He set down the reishi lamp that he had so discreetly borrowed from Harribel's and turned it towards the text.

* * *

_Hueco Mundo is really an environment like no other. There is a higher concentration of reishi in the atmosphere alone than in all life on Earth, and nothing ever puts it to use. It gathers together, forming thick plumes in the sky. And as more Hollows evolve, ceros go off, and bodies decompose, the clouds keep getting thicker until the reishi condenses for about a month or so every few years. This is Hueco Mundo's rainy season. It's a time where everything that is able to make the journey moves to the surface, drawn up by what's basically liquid food. Everyone uses it to try and reach the next level as fast as possible._

_Physically, it's similar to Earth's hydrologic cycle, and from what I've gathered, this is because reiatsu changes its state of matter when its density increases which explains why sometimes we get something akin to hail. The only real difference between the storms here and the ones on Earth is that the result in this world is absolute insanity._

_Packs usually disband, and every Hollow will fight for themselves in blind chaos. There's no light except for the occasional flash of discharged spirit particles from the clouds covering the moon. No one risks using energy attacks because the atmospheric interference will make them blow up in your face more than half the time. Garganta won't work either, and for some reason, the thunder and lightning tend to drastically decrease the time it takes for a Hollow or Arrancar to go feral. It's like I said, absolute insanity._

_Lately though, Aizen's been sending kill squads around to the Adjuchas communities that won't join up with us. That, along with many other reasons (most of which can be traced back to Aizen) has caused a lot of bodies to end up decomposing without being eaten, so the storms build up faster than they used to. _

_-Sexta Espada, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez_

'_Hueco Mundo and its Inhabitants' pg. 612_

* * *

"You wrote this?" Orihime postulated, trying to hide her skepticism for fear of sounding impolite. "I mean, the kanji's written well, and I didn't expect it because there are no schools here. How do you know how to read and write?" Her impression of him was starting to get whiplash. Initially, he had been nice albeit rough around the edges but nice nonetheless, and then he had transformed into something of a vehement fervor. But now, even his crude speech and what she had thought to be average intelligence for a Hollow was questionable. The prospect of befriending someone else that was so dynamic had her elated.

Grimmjow scoffed humorously. "That's a question for another ti-"

A metallic clink coming from the window interrupted him.

Both denizens of the room whipped their heads around to spot an iron shutter descending upon the barred window, silencing the raging storm and keeping any further sand or rain from entering.

"Shit! Listen, Orihime, "Grimmjow said hurriedly, "I like talkin' with ya and all, but I gotta go _now."_

"I like it too," the schoolgirl uttered perplexedly, flustered by the commotion. "Are you coming back today? When am I going to see you again? When am I going to help you?"

"Later," Grimmjow mumbled from the doorway. He glanced over and caught the sight of Orihime gazing dejectedly back at him with her hands clasped to her chest. "And don't talk about that kind of stuff with anyone else but me and only when I'm in this room," he added severely. None of the cameras in the holding cell had gone offline from the storm, he was certain of that. They were newer models that contained circuitry protected by anti-spiritual matter.

Though, regardless of security, he had to go. The fact that Las Noches was locking down meant that all the Espada were safely inside.

"Sorry about cutting this short. The book'll keep you busy until I come back."

He raised the door, offered a chaste wave, and almost smacked his face into an ivory spike.

A pair of unfeeling juniper eyes met his before Ulquiorra brushed past his inferior officer and into the chamber. "What is this?" he asked coolly, his footfalls landing like pin drops atop the tiled floor. First he looked to the girl. Her clothes were intact and her expression was more of a 'caught in the act' type than anything else. She hadn't been raped or injured or even received a raised voice from the looks of it. That was disturbing.

Grimmjow too was concealing something. He faced him next and scanned his figure for any immediate evidence of what had been going on prior to his arrival.

Everything about the Sexta was off. His stance was coiled, but his hands weren't in his pockets like they usually were before a fight, and his eyes were unusually matching up to his age and caliber as a Hollow. Something had brought about the persona of the Adjuchas that had been destined to be the King of Lordes. Ulquiorra felt something odd when he met that hard cobalt leer, something primal that he hadn't felt since he had first become a hybrid. He actually found himself slightly unnerved under the sheer predatory pressure exerted by the man's very presence.

"I asked what this was," he restated, now more to Grimmjow than to anyone else.

"None of your fucking business," the blue-haired Arrancar spat venomously, motioning to walk away until the prospect of Ulquiorra making a deduction that would hurt his chances of seeing Orihime again rooted his feet.

"Excuse me?" The Cuarta responded monotonously.

"Ya heard me. It's not your concern. Aizen hasn't said anything about me not being allowed to be here."

Ulquiorra was being tried. "I am aware of that, but I am entrusted to the woman's well-being, and you are second only to Nnoitra on the most antagonistic to my duty. How long have you been here?"

"Hour and a half."

"I don't believe you."

"How old's that stain by the door? You tell me."

He had him there. Keeping on his guard, the shorter man inhaled the scent of the blood in front of the entrance and found that its age validated Grimmjow's claim. "I see. You expect me to believe that you were merely conversing with her?"

Grimmjow rolled his eyes. "I'm expecting you to stop being so god damned nosy before I tear out your throat. I got bored, alright? Storm made it so I couldn't go out and hunt, so I decided to come here for a talk. I even brought her food since you're incapable of getting her to eat," he snarled, watching Ulquiorra investigate the tray that he himself had brought only to find it largely untouched save for a large bootprint. Apparently intrigued, he then moved to the plate on the table. At first he was confused by the scent it was emitting, but then the silverware did have only the woman's saliva on it.

"Woman, you have…strange tastes in meals."

Far from satisfied, he eyed the suspicious pair in hopes of finding something he could use for probable cause. Orihime was out of it, her face was held neutral, and she seemed anxious to be alone more than anything. And then there was Grimmjow who was quickly becoming his most formidable opponent on the grounds of simply doing what Aizen had requested of him. He was stalwart and his ancient stare told him that he was far from giving him any leverage.

This round was lost.

"Very well, then. If you are on your way, then please leave, Grimmjow. And do refrain from harming the guards in the future if you are to return." He swiveled his frigid inquiry back to the girl. "Woman."

"Y-yes?" Orihime piped up sheepishly.

"Alert me with your reiatsu if you encounter any trouble, understood?"

"Okay."

On that note, he ushered Grimmjow out of the room and sealed the hatch behind him.

"I have no idea what you're up to, but I will find the meaning behind this," Ulquiorra stated dryly, hailing a passing Numero and ordering him to stand guard in front of the door before vanishing.

Grimmjow let out a series of throaty chortles once the Cuarta's reiatsu signature was out of his range. He would find nothing. Only Aizen and the Overseers had the authority to check the memory in the security control rooms, and none of them would consent to a full review of the cell's footage during such a busy time. He had won flawlessly. In a single day, he had accomplished his goal. Now, all that was left to do was wait until the others secured a location and the tools required for the operation to commence. To say he was excited would be an understatement.

Victory required a drink.

"Hey, over there!" he hollered, causing the recently-stationed Numero to look at him in surprise and then to the end of the long hallway where the Sexta had been pointing.

Not one to waste an opportunity, Grimmjow kicked the undersides of the sentry's knees in quick succession, shearing the joints with broken bone. He then pressed his foot against its back as he wrenched the head until it pointed to the floor, dislodging it from the spinal column and breaking the skin on the front of the neck. An easy snack. The reiryoku in the blood was enough for a private celebration.

* * *

It was dusk in Hueco Mundo's abstract sense of time, and high above the dome of Las Noches, Grimmjow sat cross-legged on the broad marble balustrade overlooking the warzone below.

Countless Hollows had gathered on the desert surface to participate in the feeding frenzy brought about by the storm. He himself was not immune to the affects of the tempest either. His eyes had started to undergo their feral transformation some time ago since earlier venturing out into the downpour of gelatinous spirit particles, heralding the resurgence of the savage beast that had once conquered the Menos Forest long before Aizen Sousuke's rise to power.

His breaths were heavy and every exhalation escaped as a primordial hiss. This was a test for him; he would subjugate himself to it every rainy season. It was a challenge of mental willpower to see how long he could override his surging instincts in favor of what sanity remained. Several hours had gone by already, yet he was still going strong. His irises were even now refusing to morph into the shining golden hue that signalled complete Hollowfied regression.

That wasn't sufficed to say that he could keep it up forever.

In fact, he was about to call it a night when his heightened senses detected the descent of two familiar energy signatures behind him.

"I thought I might find you here," a velvety female voice called out over the thunder.

Side by side, Harribel and Starrk padded over to the railing that doubled as their friend's perch and leaned over on either side of him.

"Weather's a good thing," the Primera said after several pregnant moments of stormgazing. "Security will be toned down because no one can open a garganta to invade. That means the woman will be easier to keep in contact with and we don't have to worry about the bugs and cameras in our rooms."

"Speaking of which," the Tercera broke in, "how did your first meeting go? Well, I hope."

Grimmjow chuckled darkly. "Better than that, Tia." He waited to elaborate, not for dramatic flair but because it would irk his packmates. "She's in."

The Sexta could practically hear their jaws hitting the floor while he licked the rain from his lips.

"If this is a joke and you actually killed her or something, it's not funny." Starrk admonished, looking more awake than ever before. A few feet away, Harribel shared his sentiment with a wordless agreement.

"No joke. She's an idiot with a big, bleeding human heart. I worked her in ninety minutes before Ulquiorra showed up and ruined it. And get this, she actually sympathizes with me even though she doesn't know a damn thing about the evolution process. A half-fake sob story and a few false promises go a long way with that girl." Grimmjow was positively radiating arrogance over his amateurish manipulations. "All that's left is for you," he gestured to Harribel, "to get that super food or whatever it is from the Octava and for you," now Starrk, "to find and secure a suitable location while I maintain my good standing with our little assistant."

Both higher ranked Espada nodded, their eyes slowly succumbing to the thunderstorm and shifting to yellow and blue respectively.

"I scouted Szayel-Aporro's laboratory today and found where he keeps the cultured Hollows. I'll begin transporting them tomorrow while he's out experimenting in the rain like he's bound to do. If not, then I will amass them through other means," Harribel said assuredly, unwrapping what appeared to be candy and popping it under her collar.

"And I know a place with no surveillance that will work out fine," Starrk added with a yawn as he mimicked the dark-skinned woman's actions and lifted a piece of hard resin-like substance to his mouth.

"Uh-huh," Grimmjow said absentmindedly, "and what exactly is that stuff?"

Seeing as how the Primera had already left to go back to sleep, Harribel took it upon herself to provide an answer. "Condensed reiryoku candies. Aizen began rationing these out a little while ago, but I suppose you were too busy ripping off the shutters and breaching the lockdown to hear the announcement. These are to keep us from turning feral, and I would like for you to take one if you are planning to see my Fraccion tonight. I don't want you feeding on them during the rainy season." Upon finishing her explanation, she promptly shoved a handful of the confections into Grimmjow's hands before leaving him alone in the rain.

"Gee thanks, bitch."

Seeing as how going on bloody rampage around Las Noches was set after successfully becoming a Vasto Lorde Arrancar on his to-do list, Grimmjow grudgingly sucked on one of the candies as he stepped over the bent sheet metal that had once barricaded his room from the monsoon. He then entered the double doors, bolted them, and dried himself off with a towel that he had scrounged up beforehand.

He could already feel the ferocity caused by the atmospheric disturbance begin to dispel while he broke the jawbreaker-like object with his canines. Much to his distaste, it was strawberry flavored. Oh, how he loathed strawberries.

Pushing past the bad taste, he dove backwards onto his bed and removed Pantera from his sash, setting it next to him atop the mattress.

The Zanpakuto made it made itself audibly known with a quiet rattle.

"What, you got somethin' to say?" Grimmjow mumbled into his bedspread, sparing a single curious eye over to his weapon. Another rattle, this time louder. "Want me to bring you out?" The sword shook in an apparent positive reply. "Alright, give me a minute, then." The blue-haired hybrid sat up in a seiza position with his katana spread horizontally in front of his knees. He then took a few cleansing breaths and closed his eyes in concentration. Within seconds, the sword morphed into a luminous cyan light and shot across the room before the entire chamber was engulfed in a bright flash.

"Oh, we synched pretty fast this time."

At the other side of the bedchamber, a coat of sleek white fur shone from the light of the tumultuous sky outside.

A ghostly panther looked upon its partner in scrutiny, flicking its obsidian-tipped ears about every time thunder crashed outside. With graceful yet powerful movements, it leapt to the foot of the bed and nuzzled against Grimmjow's outstretched hand.

"I wanted to talk to you about what you're planning," Pantera said in his coarse, naturally growling tone.

Grimmjow shook his head sagely as if a past conjecture had just been confirmed. "I figured that you would, but say your piece quickly because I have three women upstairs on hold for me."

The phantasmal jungle cat gave a deep chuckle. "Just like you, I suppose. Well then, I'll go ahead and say that I support what you're doing, but I just wish for you to be a little more cautious. You see, abridged or not, you told that girl about your history and that's put me on edge."

Pantera pretended to ignore the scoff following his concerned request.

"It was for sympathy," Grimmjow justified with a wave of his hand. "So what if she figures out that all that time I spent in that cell put a lot of people on my kill list and that I'll start crossing off names as soon as she's through fixing me? I looked into her eyes and I know that woman's been around death before. She's suffered her fair share by human standards, and she won't let something like a little future bloodshed interfere with whatever's really motivating her to help me. I mean, she's stupid, but come on, she knows we're gonna be in a war soon."

He rested his jaw against the back of his wrist and cast a thoughtful glimpse to the side of the room. "We have the same goals, us and her. We all want to stay alive and get out of this in good shape for the future. Her survival instincts are strong enough to where she would allow me to kill her enemies at least if it meant living past the war."

"You seem so sure," the sword spirit trailed off, leaving the rest of his statement inside his head.

"I am. She's weak, desperate, and depressed. She might be a pacifist like you say, but she'll give that up in a heartbeat if it meant reaching our common goal. I guarantee you that," Grimmjow retorted adamantly.

"If you're so confident," Pantera began to glow an intense blue once more, "then I trust you, partner." He gradually took the form of a sword, content to accompany the Sexta wherever his fate led him.

"I won't let ya down."

* * *

_Like the Shinigami's, an Arrancar's Zanpakuto is the source of their true power. _

_In the process of evolution, we tend to cram all that power into a sword and just about everyone thinks that that's all that can be done with it, but I - and someone else who wouldn't appreciate it if I named him or her - have learned otherwise._

_Back when I (or Lilynette as we don't know who the original was and we share the same memories. Trust me when I say that it's a tired argument) was a Hollow, alone and wandering the desert for the two or three months after being released from my cell, I had a dream. In it, there was a lizard that had bitten off its own tail. The tail never grew back, but the tail itself became a smaller lizard and the two traveled together. It was a hell of a premonition._

_Loneliness makes you try strange things, so I broke off a piece of my mask, and well, it became Lilynette when I forced some power into it and made myself into a natural Arrancar._

_So we kept each other company for a whole three hours until Aizen appeared, coincidentally just after I had divided myself, and recruited me into his army._

_Anyway, the point I'm trying to make in this entry is that reiryoku can be forced into a part of a Hollow's or newborn Arrancar's body such as a mask fragment in order to create another sentient life form or maybe even some kind of shape-shifting, living sword thing…_

_-Primera Espada, Coyote Starrk and apparently Lilynette Gingerbuck who has in no way contributed to this entry but is nevertheless yelling at me all the way from another residential tower to include her name. I don't even know how she can see me from here._

'_Hueco Mundo and its Inhabitants' pg. 191_

* * *

**Reviews are food for writers. If you enjoy my work then drop me a line.**

**Author's Note:**

**Woo! Chapter two out and already breaking eleven thousand words, usually I have to go for or five before that happens. Hope it was worth the wait for those following this story. And yeah, I figured that since in canon Ichigo and the crew arrive in one day to rescue Orihime, I needed to create an interesting way to extend her imprisonment in Las Noches so I used the Rainy Season concept I came up with last year. There are a lot of past things that I've come up with that might tie into this story just because they segway to some really cool things I have planned later on. For now, I am sort of ripping myself off. I'll asmit that much.**

**Soledad = Isolation/Solitude in Spanish for those who are interested. It also happens to be a title of a great song by Armik, a really great Gypsy Flamenco guitarist.**

**Next Chapter: its go time kiddos. **


	3. Kiss Where It Hurts

_You would never think it, but Menos-tier Hollows tend to retain memories from their past lives at a ratio extraordinarily higher than that of Shinigami. I have many theories as to why, most of which baseless, but the one I have always favored is that it is due to their extreme emotional stimulation during the transformation process in conjunction with their rather unique personalities. Of course, there are holes in this particular theory. However, whenever I start to doubt it, I remember an incident that occurred some number of years ago._

_One day, while I was enjoying my time away from the monotony of my duties as a Shinigami, I came across a newborn Hollow that had recently entered Hueco Mundo. In a rage, it swore and cursed at least a dozen human names before it died at my feet. It seems that in my curiosity I ventured too close without suppressing my reiatsu._

_That phenomenon has yet to repeat itself, but it always enters my thoughts when I witness one of my soldiers engaging in an act independent of Las Noches' uniform behavior or mention an event that took place before the timeframe of their second life. It is all very interesting, and Szayel-Aporro has stated that it is testable by hypothesis. While that may be true, I would imagine that the experimentation would be far too time-consuming for something that is not directly beneficial to our aims._

_Perhaps I can spare the resources when I finish with the tasks at hand._

_-Aizen Sousuke_

'_Hueco Mundo and its Inhabitants' pg. 46_

* * *

"Do you remember anything…you know, from before you died?"

Grimmjow gave Orihime a weary glance from his sprawled out position on her sofa before turning a half-scowl up toward the ceiling.

It had been three days since their first meeting, and all he was charged with now was keeping their relationship on good terms while his accomplices satisfied the few, although daunting, variables that made up his ascension to the peak of evolution. He would be lying if he said it wasn't a giant pain the ass to come see her every day, tossing around small talk and pretending to actually care about her. But it served as a time killer, and it never ceased to amuse him when he watched her consume a meal that he had procured from one of Ulquiorra's guards.

The Cuarta himself had become thoroughly vexed with Grimmjow's increasingly adept skill of eluding capture in the act of treason whenever he arrived - always too late. As much as he hated to admit it, Ulquiorra had to give his inferior officer credit where it was due for the method in which he dispatched his sentries. First, he would render them unconscious with a swift blow to the head. Then the arteries beneath their wrists were severed so that they would still retain a strong reiatsu signature until they perished, which would be anywhere from two to four hours depending on how quickly that certain guard could regenerate their blood, less if they were unfortunate enough to have an organ stolen from them while they were still alive. It was a system that defeated the purpose of posting them there in the first place, but he could still afford to hope that the Sexta might slip up and accidentally crush one's skull.

"Why do ya keep asking me weird things like that?"

Orihime rested her jaw on her knuckles - a pose she had subconsciously adopted from her conversation partner - and briefly mulled over the question. She had become more at ease around him since his initial appearance, but he had remained as impassive and cryptic as ever when their talks came to anything personal. This sharply contrasted her own candidness and often made for one-sided discussions unless she could find a way to make them interesting to him by dosing them with something philosophical. Then he became as talkative as she was, opening up about past experiences and the many things he had learned over the course of his long life which was so vast that it made her feel like an infant.

"I was just wondering how you know how to read and write," the redhead replied innocently, jabbing what she believed to be beef with her fork. "You don't seem like the kind of person who would learn it here unless you were forced to."

Grimmjow smirked. Clever woman; she truly had a knack for deciphering and analyzing personalities. It was a practice he both shared and respected.

"Most Hollows lose everything when they're first born, but the ones with the ability to keep their individuality at Menos-level usually hang on to their knowledge from the past life and maybe even some memories if they're lucky. That's why all of the Arrancar - not countin' the foot soldiers - know how to speak and think at a high enough level to be useful," he explained, still refusing to make eye contact until the inevitable was asked.

"So you do remember some things?"

The Espada let his icy blue stare fall squarely onto Las Noches' prisoner. "Not much, and what I do remember ain't important. Stuff in the past that can't be changed isn't even worth thinking about."

"But I do that all the time," Orihime replied with a small amount of shame lacing her otherwise neutral tone. "Before I go to sleep every night, I always think about the good and bad things that have happened to me. How can you not?"

He must not have any good memories at all, she thought morosely

"Easy," Grimmjow scoffed, "all you have to do is think about the future instead. Plan things out so that they go your way, and you won't regret anything later. Human emotions and tendencies can be controlled if you command them into submission and use them to your advantage just like everything else. What's so hard to understand about that?"

"I…never thought of it like that, but I guess sometimes I do something similar when I force myself to be happy even when I'm not."

"And why the hell would you do that?"

Now Orihime was just confused. Hadn't he just glorified reining in emotions for satisfaction?

"Seems like that would make the times when you're actually happy mean less to you," Grimmjow said gruffly. "I wasn't talking about fooling yourself into feeling something you aren't. That's just weak and fucking stupid. I'm talking about taking what you really feel and breaking it until you can work it into something that suits you. Everything can be used to serve a beneficial purpose." He slammed his fist into his palm for emphasis, and Orihime couldn't help but look at him as a model of inspiration. This blue-haired hybrid had the strength and mental security that she had tried to provide herself with for years.

And even if his views conflicted with her own, he may have had a point.

"When the people around me are sad, I try to be cheerful so they can feel better. That's just a habit I've had since I was young, since my brother and I left our parents."

"Yeah?" Grimmjow seemed mildly interested in the bit of background despite his unchanged, reclined posture. "Why'd you leave? I thought humans were big on parenting."

The room became silent save for the ceaseless storm battering against the cell's iron shutters. No longer was there an air of an honest debate over renegade feelings. Even the fluorescent cerulean flame of the reishi lamp had seemed to flicker and shrink.

"They were bad people," Orihime whispered. Her usually lively visage had darkened and turned downwards while chocolate doe eyes hardened and became glossed over with a complex mixture of burned out anger and sorrow. "They did horrible things to me and my brother, so we ran away and lived on our own."

Grimmjow studied her intently, now upright and fully focused. "They beat you?" It came out more as a casual statement than a question. He received a small, dark nod. "For no reason?" Again, a nod. The girl's hands clenched into uncharacteristically shaking fists. Things were getting engaging. He might actually be able to get away with acting like himself for a small time. "What kind of people were they besides 'bad'?"

"My father was a drinker and my mother sold herself for money," the schoolgirl replied far more swiftly than Grimmjow had anticipated, her voice holding none of the sickening bounciness he had been forced to previously tolerate. "We left when I was too young to remember their faces. The only thing my brother told me about them was that they abandoned us and that I should forget about them. I didn't know what they were like, and I never understood why we weren't together, so I went looking for them when I was twelve. I skipped school while my brother was at work and found their address." She paused and brought her head up, meeting his inquisitive gaze with an intensity that almost made him break into a grin.

"The first thing my mother wanted from me was money. When I said I didn't have any, she said she was going to make me get some for her. I didn't know what she meant then, and I tried to leave. But my father came home, and they both started pushing and hitting me because I wouldn't do what they told me to. Looking back, I'm not even sure if they were just angry that I had ran away or if that's how they had always treated me. So, I managed to get away and I ran home. When my brother asked what happened, I smiled and told him that I fell at school. I'm clumsy...so he believed me and left me alone to go to his night job. It was a good thing because I didn't want him to see me cry. I didn't want him to see me being-"

"Weak." Grimmjow finished knowingly. Orihime shook her head in affirmation. "So you kept pretending to be havin' a good time to cover up how off you really were, huh? What about your brother, he dead now?" It was a reasonable deduction based off of how she referred to him.

A salty scent was quickly picked up by the Arrancar's acute sense of smell as Orihime's eyes were threatening to spill over with tears of remembrance. "What would you have done?" she murmured softly. "You're a strong person, so what would you have done? I've been living the best I can by myself, but I haven't been strong enough to keep bad things from happening. That's why I'm here."

"Oh, you don't need to know what I'd do." The Espada dismissed with a small wave of his hand.

"Please?" She choked out, trying not to sob, not to exhibit the weakness that they both condemned. All at once, she hurried over to the empty half of the couch and pleaded wordlessly for him to compare his hypothetical actions to her real ones.

Grimmjow chuckled to himself inaudibly. This was far more entertaining than any of his previous visits. He knew the woman was nothing special in terms of fortitude but for her to crack and reveal a festering adequacy complex was amusing at worst and refreshing. Hell, was it refreshing; he was so tired of playing into her pattern of conversation, controlling his impulses to the point where he had to do the opposite of anything he wanted. Suddenly, though, he was free to talk from the heart about his veritas to this human who wouldn't even understand it.

Better than nothing.

"I'd erase them from my life completely," he declared proudly, causing her to look up with a muddled mess somewhere between depression and captivation. "I would crush them and fill the gaps in my strength and will with their corpses. If someone causes you to suffer, then don't run away. Just wipe your face and destroy them. It's as simple as that. When something you don't like can't be changed to satisfy you, then all you have to do is break it until you can't recognize it anymore. After total destruction, you can build whatever you want on top of the things that hurt you in the past without any restrictions." Grimmjow stood and turned to face Orihime who was in awe of the sheer passion that radiated off of him like a heavy mist rolling across the top of a street after a summer rainstorm.

"Reduce everything to nothing and you can do anything. That is how to master your fate, woman."

Grimmjow split his lips apart and inhaled deeply through his exposed fangs, reveling in the rich full air of Hueco Mundo. "Isn't that right?" he asked offhandedly, beckoning for Orihime who had yet to fully absorb his ultimate truth to face the entrance of her cell.

"Indeed. Well spoken, aspect of destruction." a silken yet firm voice praised.

As she made herself at home in the empty chair, Orihime eyed the newcomer cautiously and went as far as to lean behind Grimmjow so that he was between her and the strange woman. She had a presence that was far from volatile like the Sexta, but something instinctual warned her that this person who hid her face behind a high collar was not to be trifled with. There was no doubt in her mind that she, like everything else in Las Noches, could rend her to pieces. But beyond that, it was her cool and controlled demeanor that put her on the same edge that Ulquiorra did whenever he made his rounds.

"I am Tia Harribel, Tercera Espada," the dark-skinned interloper breathed through the fabric of her uniform. She paid Orihime no further mind except for a chaste analysis with her aqua-tinted gaze and instead focused her attention on the man seated next to her. "Aizen has summoned you."

"Tch." Grimmjow swore and placed his hands on his knees before rising to his feet. "What for?" he inquired distastefully, watching Orihime while she dried her cheeks on her sleeve and contorted her face back into a temperate, fascinated expression. How she could accomplish such a feat when she was clearly disturbed mere seconds ago would forever remain a mystery to him.

"Not just you…her too," Harribel corrected, eliciting a gasp of surprised dread overtop another curse. "I don't know what for, but the Cuarta is on his way here. I suggest you follow me unless you want him to accompany you in my stead." She looked at the other officer expectantly and earned a nod. He then uttered small reassurances to the girl by his side.

"Come on," he urged roughly, grabbing Orihime by the arm and tugging her out of the room. Idly, he noticed that the incapacitated guardsman along with his blood had been removed much to his gratitude. Such a thing, if seen by the keystone in his conspiracy, would be highly detrimental. He had already done enough damage by obliterating Luppi in front of her.

Quickly, he let her go once in the open and shoved his hands in his pockets before walking briskly ahead of his two companions.

Orihime made a fleeting motion for him to wait up but Harribel snatched her hand and returned it to her side. "For me to come here was a risk in itself. It would be suspicious if you and he were to arrive at the same time." She swiveled her eyes upward and received a blinking green light from the nearest camera - a sign that Lilynette still had things covered in the local sector's security. "And please understand when I tell you that you are much safer traveling with me than you are with him. The hallway traffic would try to harm you under anyone else's protection." When there was no signal that she understood, the Arrancar continued. "It is well known that I do not tolerate baseless violence against the women in my company."

Her lashes inched closer together when Orihime still refused to acknowledge her with anything more than a short 'okay'.

"Um," the mortal girl said sheepishly, "you're one of Grimmjow's friends, right?"

It was an odd thing to ask and it caught Harribel off guard. Friends were not things she could imagine Grimmjow capable of having. He made acquaintances and packmates, but not friends. Those were luxuries beyond the grasp of his bestially-oriented mind. Then again, she supposed that by human standards they technically _were_ friends, but in the current context it left a bad taste in her mouth.

"Yes, I am."

Instantly, Orihime brightened and commenced trekking down the hall on the distant tail of her confidante.

_What a strange girl._

"May I ask something?" Harribel matched the girl's pace and kept to her right.

"Go ahead, Tia-chan."

The Tercera nearly missed a step at the honorific, fighting to ignore the pervasive nostalgia flooding her brain amongst a host of other unwelcome sensations. "Please don't use your language's titles when addressing me," she managed to speak in her usual tone.

There was a hurried apology and then a pause as Harribel regained her bearings.

_Saying such a thing. Does this girl comprehend what kind of danger she's in?_

"You are aware that you are assisting us in a plot that, if discovered, will make you an enemy of Las Noches, correct?"

"Yes."

A golden brow arched upwards. "I was just making certain that you knew the gravity of the situation you are putting yourself in. I'm glad to see you prepared because tonight is when we will need your abilities."

How odd, she thought.

Somehow, Grimmjow had gotten her to risk her life for him while keeping her disillusioned. This human was either desperate for the way out she knew he had offered, or she was driven by something deeper that had caused her to act on her own. Or perhaps, though it made her shiver to think it, Grimmjow had gone and employed his artifice.

Well, as long as she knew what she was getting herself into.

Past the act of restoring Grimmjow, she was entirely expendable, so it was of no consequence to her. Nevertheless, she couldn't bridle her curiosity when wondering just what her reasons were for aiding them.

These thoughts carried her all the way until they arrived in front of the plain, although no less imposing, double doors of Aizen's throne room. And as expected, Ulquiorra was there to greet them, standing off to the side, eyes closed to complement his perpetual detachment.

"Aizen-sama has ordered her to remain present, but she is unwelcome inside. I will take charge of her here," he informed the two women dispassionately. "Should any more be required, I will alert her if she is allowed to enter." A single emerald jewel flashed towards Tercera who promptly vanished in a punch of sonido as to dispel any further notion of involvement with Grimmjow's already sketchy behavior around Orihime.

* * *

Inside the dimly illuminated grand chamber, Grimmjow was finding it difficult to keep his composure under both Tousen's patronizing aura and Aizen's painfully long drawls detailing the ineffectual subjects that he typically put before his main point. It was as if the man made a living from being so smoothly aggravating. But he wouldn't let him win. He would simply show his disinterest accordingly, disregard Tousen's rebuke, and respond when necessary to keep up the image that he was at least listening. His experience with this particular game did well to help him manipulate it so that the men above him high atop the vaulted platform could do little to invoke the hatred that they so rightfully deserved.

"Now then, the storm is predicted to last another three weeks or so, and that has set us somewhat behind on schedule," Aizen expressed with a false hint of exasperation just to see if his soldier could discern it from the actual agitation in his voice. "And that leaves me with what to do with our guest. You see, spending so much time alone in a place with so little light can irreparably damage the fragile mind of a human, even cause them to do something unsavory such as bite their tongues." Grimmjow did _not_ like where this was headed. "Now, I've heard that she and you have been spending quite a lot of time together. Is this true?"

He had anticipated as much. Ulquiorra was bound to tell his lord and master about his trips to the holding cell. "Yeah, what of it?" There was no use in being defiant and taking the obvious bait for a lie. His operation was far too delicate for that. Already, Aizen had replaced the cameras in his quarters with upgraded models that could handle the effects of the inclement weather whilst he had been busy elsewhere the previous night. He was being watched, but that was the extent of it as far as he knew.

Too little and too late for the megalomaniac. Harribel showing up personally to escort Orihime meant that it was time to set things in motion.

"Nothing at all," Aizen retorted calmly, unfazed by the blatant disrespect. "I'm thrilled to see you expanding your social circle. And so from now on, Inoue Orihime will reside within your accommodations. Think of it as a way for you to repay her for healing your injuries."

Grimmjow inwardly smirked at the news but made sure to appear thoroughly irritated. The man had just played right into his hands. Whether he was actually concerned for her life or rooming her with him to spy on their interactions in a place where he assumed they would deem it safe to do so, he had won. No longer would he have to break her out of her prison, risking being found out on the way over. All too easy. One less potentially dangerous variable.

"I think ya would save both of us some effort by cutting off her tongue and chaining her to the wall. Burn the wound, force feed her, and she'll have a tough time killing herself," the hybrid offered without missing a beat, completely deadpan.

In response, Tousen left the area with a bow and Ichimaru Gin could be heard chuckling from his laid back stance in the shadow of the throne. "Told ya he would say somethin' like that, Aizen-Taicho

Aizen himself seemed bemused at the proposal in the manner of a parent being relayed the impossible aspirations of their child. "That's far too cruel for a host to do to his guest. I would rather her be in working order should I require her talents again in the near future. Until then, I believe it would do her well to be in the charge of someone that will keep her spirits up, and I hardly think Ulquiorra can manage that."

Who was he trying to fool, Grimmjow wondered. "So you pick me?"

"Is that a problem?"

"You know what I do to women, right?"

The Shinigami ran his thumb and forefinger down the length of chestnut hair that divided his face and suddenly shifted away from the rhetorical game he was playing with his subordinate. "Keep her alive and in optimal mental health, or you will face the consequences. Succeed in that, and what you do to her is none of my concern. It is that simple, Grimmjow," he said sternly, finally asserting his dominance and pulling the Sexta's reins.

"You may go."

Without so much as an inclination of his head or a farewell, Grimmjow left.

Outside the throne room, his mouth twisted into a wry grin as he brushed past Ulquiorra and took Orihime by the wrist. "Come on, woman. You're holding up with me now."

"What?"

"Excuse me?"

Grimmjow shot his superior a look brimming with disdain and slipped his arm down to the former prisoner's waist where he pulled her to him in mock protectiveness. "You heard me. Me and her are gonna get cozy in my room while you get some free time. Everybody wins, huh?" Ignoring the faint blush staining Orihime's cheeks, he arched his neck inconspicuously downward and took in the scent of her hair for Ulquiorra to see. "That Aizen-sama of yours is a pretty generous guy, isn't he?"

A chance for retaliation wasn't offered as Grimmjow swiftly made his way back to his quarters via sonido with his dazed ward in tow.

* * *

Unceremoniously, he thrust open the doors to his single floor 'palace' and guided Orihime inside while she was preoccupied with holding her stomach after it had become less than agreeable from the hypersonic travel. Wobbling through the threshold, she let herself be pulled into a comfortable looking living space and plopped down on a plush armchair.

"Here's the deal, woman. Aizen, for whatever reason, has put you up with me." Grimmjow crouched down so that he was on eye level with his new tenant and gave her a look that made it excessively clear that this was not an unmonitored environment before beginning the brief on what was acceptable within his territory. "I don't have much of an attachment to this place, so you can sleep and eat wherever you want so long as it isn't in my bedroom, got it?" Upon receiving Orihime's concession, he pointed to a doorway out beyond the sea of furniture. "Books and reading material are over there. Ain't any harlequin literature, but you should be able to find something. Past that is the training room. I don't know if you can actually fight, but I outfitted the walls with reiatsu dampers. You won't need to hold back in there."

He rose and slid Pantera from his sash. "Since I live in the low part of this tower, and I took off all the shutters keeping the storm out, we might get some visitors who've scaled Las Noches from the surface. If a Hollow gets in here and I'm not around, then flare your reiatsu. Same thing if there's any other kind of trouble." With that out of the way, Grimmjow spared a wave over his shoulder and started walking out of the room.

Quickly, Orihime chased after him and halted his progression to what looked like a completely empty chamber. "Where are you going?" Her face was troubled. Whether it was from the possibility of Hollow invasion or something else, Grimmjow didn't know. But her insecurity and overall clinginess was starting to irk him.

"I'm going to talk to my sword, and for that I need to concentrate. Get situated here, go find a room you like, and find warmer clothes. After that, do whatever you want to do, and then get some sleep." She opened her mouth to protest. "Don't lie to me and say you aren't tired. You haven't slept in at least a day. Besides, I got plans for you tonight," he added in a heated voice that rode on the steam escaping his mouth.

Orihime felt her previous blush resurface, yet Grimmjow's eyes explicitly told her that the lust he had conveyed was feigned.

"Later, woman."

A heavy door now obstructed the two, and she sluggishly got around to heeding his advice with a sigh. Passively, Orihime began searching for a suitable bedroom that was well inside the tower and away from the noise of the storm.

She soon came to regret that. The further she ventured, the more disconcerted she became. Every room she came across seemed to have been prepared for her in advance, and the one she eventually settled on was no different. Las Noches' caretakers had stocked it with an excessive amount of human world vanities that were certainly not for Grimmjow. The vast collection of beauty products could attest to that.

In this particular space, the area was professionally accentuated with warmly colored décor and featured a full western style bathroom that housed everything from exotic potted flora to an entire cabinet devoted to perfumes comprised of sweet-smelling foreign ingredients that she had never even heard of.

Standing there in the washroom, she was at a loss. It was odd and unsettling to go from her gloomy cell to something that far outclassed her student apartment back in Karakura. Then again, she would be foolish not to take advantage of it.

And the first thing she needed was a hot bath.

Turning the faucet, she nearly clamped her hands to her mouth to keep herself from praising the gods for the presence of heated water.

As she draped her body over the tub and stirred whirlpools in the fiberglass basin, she couldn't resist the weary smile that stretched over her dry, fatigued features. An inkling told her that all of this was due to her meetings with Grimmjow, and if that was so, then she had definitely made the correct choice in helping him. He was kind to her in his own way. And even though his mannerisms and personal dogma were strange, adapting small portions of them into her own had made her a bit more resilient to loneliness and unwelcome situations. He was a good person beneath his hard living; she was sure of it.

Once the room had become warm enough to allow it, Orihime removed her uniform and cast it off forever into the darkness of the nearby laundry chute. She then experimented with the array of bath oils shelved above the spout and selected a subtle floral fragrance that fizzled into a thin foam when added to the bath. That luxury taken care of, she slipped inside the tub and threw her head back from the joy of reuniting with the sensation of warmth that had been she had been deprived of for far too long.

After minutes of melting ever downward into the steaming water, a wave of sleepiness had hit her full force. Only the prospect of an actual bed allowed her to stay awake long enough to wash her hair and engage in the necessary post-bath maintenance to restore her appeal to nominal levels in addition to a spritz or two of perfume to make up for the absence of deodorant. She was certain it was somewhere, but the racks upon racks of bottles and decanters were yielding no results.

Once out of the bathroom, she raided the nearest closet for something to protect against Hueco Mundo's arctic temperatures and settled on a plain white robe that was thankfully heavier than the yukata she had been expecting. All that was left to do now was sleep, and that came instantly when she burrowed under the covers of her new bed.

* * *

"I think it's worth the risk."

Pantera gave his partner a nod and licked a thick glob of rain away from his muzzle.

It hadn't been safe to discuss Grimmjow's latest intentions in full view of the upgraded cameras, and so he had brought the entity that was his sword outside into the tempest in order to discretely pitch his proposal. There was a great deal of uncertainty that came with it, but it _was_ well worth it should it succeed. Of course, this was assuming Pantera didn't vanish once he reverted into an Adjuchas. The sword was made from the mask fragment Tousen had removed after all. Healing it came with the possibility of negating the weapon's existence entirely.

"Alright, then." Grimmjow severed the spiritual tie between himself and the white panther, forcing it back into the form of a sword. Once sheathed, he carried it back inside as he chewed on one of the reiryoku candies in his pocket to drive off the effects of the storm.

_I'll keep ya here until tomorrow._

Pantera merely huffed as he found himself being stored inside of a liquor cabinet.

_**Fine, but you owe me for this.**_

Grimmjow scoffed and touched two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute before toweling off and exiting the bedchamber in pursuit of Orihime's placid spiritual pressure.

Four hours had been spent scheming in the rain, pursuing power. That was a good enough rest for humans, or so he figured. It was almost lights out in Las Noches, and the curfew Aizen had set in place that restricted all but security detail from leaving their chambers would be initiated soon. The time to evolve was approaching quickly, and he would be much better off in a location removed from the surveillance in his room to coordinate the operation. For that, he needed a good excuse though. Luckily, that was where his habits came into play.

Entering Orihime's room, he shrugged off his jacket and brought up his reiatsu to rouse her. For this to play out successfully, he would need to be a little closer to his actual nature. Unfortunately, that went hand in hand with the chance of scaring off the girl.

_Oh well, here goes._

"Wake up, woman. I said I had plans," Grimmjow growled threateningly from Orihime's bedside, jostling her back until groggy utterances gave way to coherent speech.

"What's wrong?" she mumbled, wiping her eyes and yawning while blissfully unaware of the atmospheric change around her host. She didn't get the hint until he grasped the sheets overtop her chest and pulled until only the fabric of her robe kept her modesty. "W-what are you doing?" she stuttered, paralyzed by the sight of the predatory manner in which Grimmjow mounted her bed and planted his arms on either side of her head. Unlike the time before, his cobalt eyes now burned through her body and projected a desire that was so intense that it nearly frightened her.

Her eyes widened and her complexion lit up in a bright crimson when his hand trespassed her garment and came into contact with the milky skin of her thigh before trailing all the way to her hip and resting there with a firm grip.

"Stop…please," Orihime squeaked. This was something she had no defense against, no experience in which to call upon. It was too much and too sudden for a girl of her innocence to handle. She could only lay there under Grimmjow's sultry dominance, confused.

A whine of defiance was lost when the Espada swept his nose along her neck and inhaled her scent, letting a carnal hiss of molten breath crash into the sensitive flesh when the perfume she had applied proved too strong for his heightened sense of smell. That angle lost, he relocated his efforts elsewhere. He brought himself lower until he pressed against her curvaceous form and took in the haze of emotions that was running through her face. Uncertainty and discomfort were prominent but still no fear. Interesting.

Depriving her of any means to evade his advance, he curled his fingers into her hair and crushed her mouth with his.

Orihime remained stock still, eyes open and looking directly into Grimmjow's as he massaged their lips together. Gone was everything in them that had proceeded up until this point. Abruptly, he was devoid of the overpowering lust from before. From her side of their mutual stare it was evident that this was not what had been implied. Now, he just seemed…bored, like she had failed some kind of test.

The kiss broke in a speed that rivaled its beginning, and Grimmjow pulled away from the shocked and mortified girl without so much as a glance.

"One little human woman isn't going to last long enough. Come on!" He yanked Orihime out from her bed and towards the exit of his quarters. "We're goin' to get more," he announced in a tone that meant death if she argued while he ushered her into the halls and slammed the door shut. He then pulled her past a series of turns and finally through a metal bulkhead that led to a massive spiral staircase that appeared to wrap around the entire interior of the residential tower.

And when the door closed, he promptly let her go and his expression morphed into one of amusement at her enduring confusion. "Don't misunderstand," he started, seeming to brush off everything that had transpired since waking her. "That was just a show for security so that we could get out of there without worrying about trouble later."

Orihime did not share in his humor. Still, it was preferable to the alternative of him being serious, but she was nevertheless thoroughly miffed and couldn't shake the feeling of being used.

"Sorry, kid." Grimmjow said sincerely enough for her to accept the apology as genuine. "If there was any other way, then I would have done it in a heartbeat, but we have to meet up with Tia since her room hasn't gotten the new security systems installed yet. Neither has this place in case you're wondering." He pointed to a spot on the sandstone wall where a disk-like object was spitting out unnaturally colored sparks thanks wholly in part to the lack of shutters over the windows in this particular area. It seemed that Aizen hadn't cared to initiate the lockdown in places that were rarely traveled.

"It's okay...as long as you're sorry. I knew you didn't mean it," Orihime murmured sourly, eyes to the floor. "Just please don't do anything like that again, okay?"

"I won't."

Not exactly a stable example of reconciliation, but Grimmjow was glad that she hadn't turned tail after he forced himself on her. Had she any strength of mind, she would have absconded far away from even the notion of aiding him by now. Luck, he supposed.

Minutes went by in an awkward blur as the pair ascended the large set of stairs with Grimmjow in the lead.

Behind him, Orihime had yet to regain her composure and was occupying herself with fixing a severe case of bedhead. "That was my first," she blurted out shyly, causing her guide to turn and regard her with scrutiny.

"Your first what?"

The schoolgirl continued to climb but remained silent for a few dozen steps. "You know...kiss."

"So?"

She didn't really know how to respond to that. Of course, _he_ wouldn't know the importance of something like that. In between being a murderer, a slave, and dead for centuries, she couldn't really expect him to either. "Nevermind," she said, slightly disappointed and mostly sympathetic.

That was meant to be the end of it, but Grimmjow wouldn't have it.

"What's the difference between your first or second or one hundredth?" he catechized, increasing his pace and smirking when Orihime fought to keep up with him. "The last one is the one you need to worry about. You could've easily died here without ever kissing a man, wouldn't you regret that? That's the way you have to live your life if you want to be satisfied with it, you know? Reach all your aspirations as soon as you create them so you don't look back and hate yourself for putting them off." The Sexta pivoted once again, this time with a grin. "So shouldn't you be thanking me?"

There he went again, showing off that he had stripped himself of his ties to humanity in favor of a set of indestructible principles. At least that was what Orihime thought as she pouted and watched Grimmjow's back.

Nothing else was spoken as the pair reached the end of their hike marked by an archway that led to the pungent aroma of sandalwood-scented candles. A little less than opulent given the occasion, though it was kind to the Sexta's nose.

Forgoing the courtesy of knocking, Grimmjow passed through the egress of the stair room and entered Harribel's residence where a full house was there to greet him.

"Remember, no honorifics," he whispered at a volume that strained Orihime's ears. He transferred his gaze from the assembly in the parlor to his human companion and frowned unnoticeably when she failed to address the many pairs of eyes that were upon her.

"Um," she rocked back and forth on her heels uneasily, "hello?" The eyes narrowed and Orihime remained frozen under the fixation of the company of strangers. Harribel was the only one amongst them she recognized. Next to her position, on a wooden recliner, sat three younger looking women, two of which did not seem pleased with her and the other, apathetic. Continuing along the formation, there was a haggard, unshaven man propped up against the wall with a jug of sake in his hand which he passed between himself and a rather scantily clad child to his immediate left.

"I'm Inoue Orihime, nice to meet you all." Orihime bent over in a formal bow and prayed that the Arrancar wouldn't embarrass her any further.

"Starrk," the man yawned, patting his subordinate's head, "and this is Lilynette, but you don't need to waste time talking to her."

One kick to his shin was all that was needed to put her in a relieved state of moderate ease. She was never any good at introducing herself to new people.

"Ladies, I assume you haven't forgotten your social graces," Harribel chastised austerely, causing the trio of Fraccion to break their glares and mumble apologies.

"Mila-Rose," the Amazoness said blankly.

"Apache."

Focus shifted to the one stalwart lover remaining unintroduced

Sun-Sun wouldn't have it. She left her spot on the couch and stalked up to the now distraught redhead and sniffed the air around her. "How are you alive after being with him," she accused venomously, reigniting the spark in Apache who sidled up beside her older kin and confronted Grimmjow who regarded her with nothing more than ruffling her hair much to her ire. "You have his scent all over you," the serpentine hybrid continued.

Harribel raised her eyebrows, and Starrk took a long swig of his rice wine.

Orihime gave a pleading look up to Grimmjow for help and found him to be thoroughly enjoying the drama he had created. "Had to convince the overwatch that I was bringing her here to finish something I started back in her bed. Ain't a big deal," he said dismissively, diffusing the jealousy in the room instantly. "If it makes ya feel any better, she's pissed at me for doing it too."

The spectators rolled their eyes in unison.

"Ah, sorry. I should have known; you don't have a scratch on you," Sun-Sun said, unabashed by her outburst unlike her sister whom had ashamedly retreated back to the sofa. She then examined Orihime's figure, roving over it like a jeweler studying a fine gemstone. "You do have a nice body, though," she admitted. "Your eyes are pretty common, but you have great skin." This praise wasn't exactly flattering the former target of her rage. If anything, it was unnerving her even more than before. "You could join us, I guess. Although it might be hard for a human to survive."

"That isn't for you to decide," Grimmjow burst in smugly, disregarding the reemergence of his housemate's maddening flush. "Not worth the trouble of having to stop so she can fix herself."

"Plus, she's probably a virgin," Apache declared, insinuating herself into what had become a three-pronged attack on Orihime's purity. "And don't hit me when I say that no one should have their first time with you." Inadvertently, this statement only offended Sun-Sun, and Grimmjow was content to sit back and watch the unavoidable fight break out.

"Actually, I can't really argue with that." The blue-haired Espada swept the stray sand particles from his hakama and casually sidestepped Apache's horn as it was driven into the ground. "It's better that they get some experience first. Otherwise, they might have a real short night with me." No one was really listening, so he shrugged and took a seat between Harribel and Starrk, both of which had given up on civility long ago.

"I don't know why I expected you to be serious tonight," the latter sighed, tossing over the alcohol to the new arrival.

Meanwhile, the Tercera stared at her own drink and grimaced from under her collar. Harribel wasn't nearly as adept at holding her liquor as the others, something she had learned the hard way the day before. "We have known him long enough to assume that his foolishness is directly porportionate to his confidenve in our plan," she said coolly. Her reasoning wasn't exactly built on a proven basis, but she could only hope that Grimmjow was using nonsense as a means to cover up anxiety.

"How much time until we move out," the topic at hand asked solemnly, dropping his former mood and replacing it with a tone that harbored neither mischief nor humor.

Harribel felt a small upwards tug on her lips. She was right after all. "Preparations have already been completed. We have a large number of synthetic Hollows for you to feed on waiting in the caverns beneath the dome. However, patience is required to ensure that Aizen and the Overseers are retired for the night before we leave, so we will depart in relatively two hours."

Grimmjow's expression became reflective, and he slowly moved his head in obscure agreement, mulling over some indiscernible thought. "Alright, then," he said slowly, "plenty of time." In a flash, he was over to where Apache and Sun-Sun were seconds away from a true catfight and hefted them over his shoulders. "I'm borrowing these two, then. I don't want to leave anything undone in case we get caught and executed."

And with the closing of the nearest bedroom's door, Harribel's theory was effectively shot to hell.

"You tend to think of him as a better friend when you don't have any high expectations for his character," Starrk whispered from behind his saucer of sake, careful not to let Orihime overhear. No telling what kind of nice guy act he normally put on around her to get her to trust him.

"Surely his entirety isn't an immoral hedonist," Harribel retorted lowly, minding the same.

"Well, yeah, but the fact that he actually does have some redeeming qualities just makes me think he's-"

"Bipolar," Mila-Rose suggested, trying not to pay attention to the shouts and sounds of conflict giving way to giggles and moans in the next room.

"Insane," Lilynette said solidly, earning a gesture from her other half that deemed her to be correct.

"Maybe his age has just gotten the better of him."

"Um…"

Everyone not occupied with sex far too loud for having just been started, glanced up to see Orihime with her hand raised and bearing a face that conveyed undiluted discomfiture. "May I please go to the bathroom?" Of course she didn't actually require a toilet, but a sterile, isolated environment was what she needed to collect herself. And it was this requirement that kept her from actually asking for the location of said bathroom, thus landing her in an unlit hallway too dark for her to find her way.

Behind her lay more of the same blackness, indicating that she had done a fantastic job at getting herself lost in record time. On top of her sociality under pressure, her sense of direction wasn't exactly one of her finer points either.

She heaved a lengthy exhalation and started tracing her hands along the walls in search of anything resembling a door and checked what lay past each one she found.

Pantry…too dark to see…dining room…kitchen…too dark…

A not so short while later, Orihime was beginning to contemplate whether or not to try sending a distress signal with her reiatsu when she came across a vestibule laden with lamps emitting wispy trails of fluorescent spiritual particles. Curious as to why this antechamber was so well-lit, she walked to the other end of the small corridor and passed through.

"Oh, wow."

Her surprise echoed across the walls of a spacious salon, its walls adorned with several hundred paintings and its floors comprised of high quality rosalia marble that rested beneath easels cradling partially finished works. Past goal forgotten, Orihime traipsed to the closest side of the gallery and strolled alongside the showcase, admiring the artist's talent and mastery of different styles. What surprised her the most, though, was that after she had examined several dozen pieces, she found them each holding the same common themes of freedom and camaraderie. All over, there were groups or solitary figures atop high mountain peaks overlooking the sea, birds captured in flight, and open landscapes depicting sunny, windswept plains amongst many other similar scenes.

However, there was one painting that was clearly out of place from the rest. It was a portrait exhibiting a fair-skinned woman who could be easily identified as an Arrancar by the large helmet-like mask fragment she possessed. She was painted in a simple yet powerful pose with her hand resting upon the hilt of her sword and dignified hazel eyes peeking out from behind bangs of seafoam green into the distance.

"I should hope that this is not your idea of a bathroom."

Orihime spun around and came face to face with Harribel, appearing as unanimated as ever when she stood next to the redhead and acted deaf to her profuse apologies.

"Do you like them?" the dark-skinned soldier questioned, mercilessly cutting off the string of remorseful pleas.

"What?"

"I asked if you liked them," Harribel reiterated, removing her saltwater orbs from the portrait and placing them squarely on the object of her interrogation.

"Of course, they're beautiful," the human girl replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Did you paint all of these?" There was a smile on her face as she waved her arms all around the room, apparently trying to point to each and every feature in the salon.

Harribel returned her attention to the canvas in front of her. "I thought someone of your species might say that; I'm relieved. You are only the second person who has admired this place, and yes, I have created everything in this room."

"Why wouldn't anyone like these? They're really well done."

The female Espada inhaled slowly and let out a long breath. "The minds of Hollows and Arrancar and primarily built around instinct and desire. Most simply cannot comprehend art much less appreciate it as you and she have." She outstretched her hand to the woman in the painting.

"Who is she?" Orihime spoke up after a quiet moment spent gazing at the figure.

"Who _was_ she would be the more appropriate question," Harribel said, a hint of sadness identifiable from her usual tone. "She and I were both natural Arrancar in the first generation of Aizen's Espada before he defected and began making his own. I was Segunda then, and she the Tercera. Together we were assigned to watch over the cell housing Grimmjow and Starrk who had both been captured against their will. We were to be stationed there for a full century, as Aizen was waiting so that he could transform them into more powerful servants once he obtained the Hougyoku instead of using the less drastic increase gained from physically removing their masks. He failed with both of them. When Starrk, an Adjuchas at the time, was released in order to evolve in a controlled environment, he took off his own mask and used it to create Lilynette. And before he was imprisoned, Tousen Kaname tore off a shard of Grimmjow's mask when he had assaulted him. As if that wasn't enough, Aizen later used him as the second test for the Hougyoku before he had fully mastered the method by which to awaken it.

She held her words briefly, closing her eyes in reminiscence. "In those years we four spent together, we formed a pack and became 'friends' as you would say. But as all things are subject to entropy, four became three."

Orihime, bubbly no longer, became grave. Her lips formed a taut line at the grief expressed in Harribel's tone. "What happened to her?"

"We still do not know. She and her Fraccion either left or perished forty years ago under questionable circumstances," Harribel explained, her voice now painfully absent of any emotion. "I have looked for her, and I have tried to substitute her with my Fraccion. But speaking about her with a human, who could understand the loss of a lover, is causing an unwelcome disturbance within me."

"Lover?" Orihime inquired innocently, eliciting a skeptical look from the Espada that acted as a catalyst for her realization. "Oh," she muttered in embarrassment, digging her toes into the floor.

"Sorry."

There was a tense silence thickening the air of the gallery.

"Can I tell you something now?" the auburn-haired girl petitioned, still focused somberly on the winding spirals of the marble

"I suppose so."

"I think I know how you feel," Orihime said, hoping to empathize with the hybrid creature next to her. "I had to leave someone I love behind without even saying goodbye when I was brought here." Surprisingly, the words came fluidly. She had expected it to be difficult. "I haven't been away from him for as long as you and _she_ have been apart, but it hurts. I think about him and all of my friends every day. That's part of the reason why I'm helping Grimmjow. I don't want to be a burden to them, so I'm trying to find my own way out."

So that was her driving force. Intrigued, Harribel listened more intently.

"If I can do this on my own, then no one will have to put themselves in danger trying to rescue me."

"How do you know they will come for you?"

Orihime laughed softly. "That's the kind of friends they are. Isn't that how it is between you and Grimmjow?"

"No." Harribel shook her head in an uncharacteristic display of liveliness. "If he were in a similar situation, then I would likely attempt to assist him, but he would not do the same for me. He does not think like you and I; it is impossible for him. His mind cannot know love or friendship. The most he has is loyalty and perhaps a small degree of honor. When he became an Arrancar, the only thing that changed was his body. Had the Hougyoku been at full power, then it may have been different. Not likely, but it is possible. If he didn't owe me for some favor or service, then he would not come for me if I was held captive. _That _is the kind of person he is."

The Tercera turned her back to the painting.

"What is your relationship with Grimmjow if you don't mind me asking?" she queried sharply, tired of the older subject.

"I don't really know," Orihime murmured. "He's been nice to me, and I like him even though he doesn't understand why I don't care for some of the things he does." She fought down the memory of their earlier kiss. "He's a good person and I want to help him escape. So, I guess that makes us partners. But I still can't understand why he wants to leave Hueco Mundo. I mean, I know he hates Aizen-san and everything, but couldn't he just stay here after this whole thing is over?"

"He could if he wanted to. If we succeed tonight, then he could very well become king of this world after the war, but he is the same as the rest of our pack. We have lived here as pampered slaves knowing that there is somewhere better where we can become more than just beasts and suicide soldiers. Even Grimmjow wants a purpose beyond simply killing and consuming. That is why I must thank you for agreeing to what we will be doing tonight. Giving him the strength he deserves will ensure a much greater chance of that ideal becoming a reality for us."

"Well, you're helping me too, so don't mention it," Orihime chimed, moving down the line to view some more artwork while Harribel just stared at her.

_It seems like he wasn't exaggerating when he told me that she was suffering from textbook Stockholm Syndrome._

This girl was an idiot if she thought that she would survive the next coming days. Aizen would overlook Grimmjow's treason only to use him, but she was of no substantial use. And if by some miracle Aizen kept her alive, then there would be others who would not take kindly to her repairing the Sexta's mask so that he could evolve. Hell, even Grimmjow himself would probably end her once he repaid his debt just because he didn't want her around to pester him any longer.

She thought he was a good person? That was laughable. Harribel felt sorry for whenever she learned just how wrong she truly was.

* * *

As the frigid droplets of liquid ice pelted his skin, Grimmjow couldn't help but snicker at the panting and bleeding Fraccion huddled together at the other end of the shower stall. Looking back, he probably should have finished up with them half an hour ago, but he just couldn't help himself when he had seen the water begin to slide down their bruised and battered bodies.

At least he was spending his time constructively.

"I think I'm starting to get used to this," Apache stated in between the licks she was administering to a set of stubbornly oozing scratches on her arm. "Not the water, I mean. That's still way too damn cold, but getting it from him isn't so bad once you're at it for a couple months, yeah?" She looked over to Grimmjow, waiting for him to tack on anything pertaining to his usual wit but received only a smirk. It seemed he was far too busy washing off the scent of sex which was proving difficult with only water. Soap would be easily sniffed out by patrols when he left the safety of his residential tower.

"Maybe you're a masochist too," Sun-Sun surmised whimsically, scrubbing her sister's back gently so as not to aggravate her injuries.

"Maybe," Apache mused, taking the cotton cloth from her olivine-haired counterpart and wringing the pinkness of diluted blood from it before returning the favor. "First I have to figure out if I was enjoying getting fucked or getting fucked _and_ beaten up."

"I think you might just be in love~," Sun-Sun said in a sing-song voice that ended in a long moan when Apache pressed hard against her lacerations.

"You actually do enjoy that, huh? You're a sick bitch, you know that?" the younger of the two Fraccion laughed, feeling a fleeting twinge of arousal in her abdomen. "And don't say stupid things like that. If I can actually fall in love, why would it be with someone who has an ego as big as Aizen's? Who in their right mind would?"

That probably wasn't the most tactful thing to say considering that she was directly in front of the person she was condemning.

"Me," Sun-Sun countered, stifling her giggles as her sister froze stock still when the resident Espada palmed her head and emitted a hellish red glow from his fingers.

"Fuck, I was just kidding!" Apache screamed, struggling against the unbearable heat until she was abruptly released. Behind her, she heard the sound of Grimmjow's manic chuckles, and fear drained away into a relieved anger. "It's not funny," she growled, punctuating her sentence by stamping her foot on the floor of the shower stall. "You burned my hair!"

"Quit whining. Ain't like that's the worst thing I did to you tonight."

She had to give him that.

"Anyway," Grimmjow clapped his hands together and turned the showerhead away from him, "It's past the time for me to get goin'."

Sun-Sun frowned and ceased tending to Apache's charred scalp. "Are you sure? We were almost ready to go again."

"Nah, Tia's out there waiting, and Starrk might drink himself under before we leave at the rate he was going," Grimmjow groused disappointedly, immediately finding a pair of lips covering his own. Not one to pass up on simple pleasures, he placed his hand over the small of the serpentine woman's back and plastered her lithe body flush against his.

"For luck," Sun-Sun breathed after leaving her lover's embrace. Of course, he wouldn't believe that he needed it, but she hoped the sentiment would be appreciated. It wasn't. Only a mischievous face resulted from her efforts.

"Nothin' to add?" Grimmjow asked suggestively over to Apache who was content with a terse 'see ya'. She didn't even have time to form a comeback before she was hoisted up and pushed into the cold tile. In retrospect, it probably would have saved her some trouble to have just said something. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy the consequences, quite the opposite she thought as his tongue wrestled hers into submission, but…well, maybe she was a masochist after all.

"Come back soon, alright?" she ordered frankly, slightly annoyed that his warmth was as comfortable as it was. Must have been the doing of the cold water.

"I'll be back tomorrow night at the latest," Grimmjow assured gruffly, stepping out of the shower to towel off. Once dry, he left the bathroom and threw on the hakama he had set out prior to entering. Nothing else would be needed. If everything went as planned, he would soon be in a form that didn't need clothes - not that he thought his current one really required any. That was just a courtesy that Aizen had forced upon him.

Stepping back out into the parlor, he saw that only those who were meant to come with him were present. As a safety precaution, all Fraccion had been banned from joining the midnight operation. Greater numbers meant a greater chance of being discovered. Plus, three of the four left behind were routinely loud.

"How do I smell?" Grimmjow asked the group as he sat down and gratefully took the sake that had been poured for him.

"I don't think that really matters since we've all been hanging around these candles," Starrk muttered, pointing to the aromatic sundries. "You really dropped the ball on that one, Tia."

Harribel swiveled wearily over to the Primera. "I assure you, it's a welcome alternative to how my territory would be scented without them," she reprised, changing the victim of an accusatory pointing to the Sexta.

"Don't act like ya don't contribute to it."

Meanwhile, Orihime was watching the ensuing argument unfold wordlessly. When they were together like this, it was easy to see that these weren't people who had merely bonded through some form of mutual trauma. They were friends through and through even if they didn't know it.

Some time later, the Espada agreed to disagree for the sake of time and stress reduction. And taking advantage of that momentary ceasefire, drinks had been proffered to the four conspirators in celebration.

"Cheers. This might be our last drink," Starrk toasted, raising his saucer to the center of the group's formation to soon be joined by two others.

They hung there in the air for a full minute, and the fourth still had yet to arrive.

"I'm not old enough."

Orihime rubbed the back of her head nervously when the trio looked at her in disbelief. "Sorry." She spun her dish around the coffee table on which it rested, refusing to pick it up.

"Lilynette is seven months old and she drinks."

"It will calm your nerves."

"Just drink it, damn it!"

"Okay, okay." Orihime relinquished, hesitantly bringing her saucer over to the others with a resounding 'clack'. Tentatively, she sipped at the liquid, remembering the universal practice of swallowing quickly until she drained every drop of it. To her surprise, it wasn't as harsh as she thought it would be, and the taste wasn't necessarily bitter either. Not bad, really.

"So how are we getting to the caverns?" Grimmjow inquired, downing a second round for good measure.

"The fifty-seventh underground passage is the most direct unsurveillanced route from here to the location we have prepared," informed Harribel. "However, because of the storm, there is an increased number of patrols to ward off any Hollows that may enter from the desert."

"Fine, let's go there. Considering the storm and the distance we'll be from the surface, no one should be able to sense a signal coming from down there," Grimmjow said in finality, receiving an agreement all around. "Alright, then." He finished his last cup and stood from his chair.

"Let's go make me a Vasto Lorde."

And with that, the team exited Harribel's quarters and took up position near one of the open windows in the stair room.

Observing as one, the group found the night ideal for remaining undetected. The clouds outside were ablaze with neon explosions of reiatsu as the rain continued to pour down from the moonless sky, hardly the kind of weather to hunt for Gillians much less man-sized creatures.

"That's it there," Starrk shouted over the otherworldly thunder, jabbing his finger towards a bunker-like structure at least five kilometers beneath the dome. Everyone but Orihime peered over the edge and confirmed that they had a visual. A human's eyes were nearly useless in Hueco Mundo during the rainy season.

"I'll go first."

With all the grace of a drunken dead man, Starrk hopped through the window and disappeared into the monsoon. Soon after, Harribel followed suit albeit in a much more sightly fashion, leaving only Grimmjow and a terrified Orihime on the stairs. "You...w-we're not doing that, are we?" she stammered, rightfully fearing for her life. The girl felt her heart drop when the Arrancar smiled wickedly. "No, no. Please," the redhead begged, almost breaking into tears when Grimmjow plucked her from the ground and held her bridal-style.

"Orihime," the hybrid said in all seriousness, forcing his ward to gaze up at him. Calm was his expression, infectiously so, and Orihime, distracted by focusing on what Grimmjow would say next, failed to notice that he was already on the ledge above the fall.

"You only live twice."

She looked down and recoiled in horror from the sheer height, wrapping her arms around Grimmjow's shirtless waist.

"That was mean!" Famous last words before he leapt off the tower.

Plummeting through the storm, his hierro was battered by rain and sand as Grimmjow accelerated to terminal velocity and thanked the ear-splitting heavens that Orihime's terrified shrieks were being drowned out. Within a minute of his dive, hyper-dense muscle tissue and bones adjusted accordingly to the impact received from landing on the roof of Las Noches' dome.

That was the short fall; now came the jump from the dome to the desert.

Harribel and Starrk were already ahead of him, waiting until he reached the edge so that the entire coterie hit the sand at the same time.

That accomplished, the group ducked inside the entrance to the previously scouted passage, and Orihime was back on her own two feet. "Please, never do that again," she groaned queasily, sitting on the ground and shivering from the cold wind while the three Arrancar formulated the next step.

"Why exactly didn't you bring Pantera again?" Starrk questioned, handing around reiryoku candies to dispel the influence of the rain.

"Didn't want to risk losing him by turning back. Might not make a difference by leavin' him farther away, but I figured I could do a lot more with two swords instead of one after I become an Arrancar again."

"You think that it'll work?"

"Who knows?"

"Regardless," Harribel butted in, putting an end to the conversation between the two. "I will take the front. Starrk, I want you on our flank. Grimmjow will be tasked with protecting the girl should trouble arise. Any questions?"

"Yeah. Who made you pack leader?"

Harribel felt like smacking her palm to her forehead, opting instead to cross her arms under her bust. "Now is _not_ the time, Grimmjow. You can have whatever tokens of leadership you want later," she scorned, venturing into the lightless tunnel and leaving the others behind.

"Bitch," Grimmjow cursed, looking to Starrk for support and receiving only a shrug as he too went inside. Another time, he supposed. There were far more important things to be doing like making sure that Orihime kept her mouth shut while they traversed the desolate passage. Anything above a whisper was sure to attract a swarm of guards.

Grabbing her by her wrist to garner her attention, Grimmjow put his index finger to his lips and walked her into the abysmal tunnel. He would need to be her eyes for the duration of their trek to the caverns. Losing her because she fell down a shaft or worse, wandered into sentries was unthinkable.

Gingerly with her along, he filed up in front of Starrk and kept a firm grip on Orihime who was stumbling about clumsily next to him. And much to the cost of his almost nonexistent sanity, she would often express her gratitude verbally whenever he prevented her from tripping. It was only by dumb luck that the group stayed uncompromised for an entire stretch of fifteen minutes.

Up in point position, Harribel halted and sniffed the air. She grimaced invisibly and checked back with the others to see that they had picked up on the threat as well.

"What's going on?" Orihime asked in a hushed tone, moving closer to Grimmjow when he released his hold on her.

"We're being tailed," he hissed. "Stay here. Starrk, come with me."

The Primera nodded and the pair manipulated their reiatsu in such a manner that it allowed them to travel across the ceiling of the burrow, creeping with animalistic movements to the source of the interlopers - a patrol squad on their rounds. Judging from their undisturbed aura, the rain had effectively masked the intruders' scents. They hadn't picked up on the Espada directly above them.

Waiting until they passed ahead towards Harribel, the lethal duo moved down along the walls back to the ground and padded behind them.

Only five. Poor odds for them.

Starrk unsheathed the katana at his hip and rammed it into the skull of the rear guard while Grimmjow sank his arms up to the elbows into the vital organs of the two in the center and ripped out as much as he could. Then, both men pounced on the remaining guards at the lead. One enjoyed the pleasure of having his head lopped off, and the other patrol hit the ground from a vicious tackle just in time for Grimmjow to wrap his hand around the back of his neck and curl his fingers through the unprotected flesh until they constricted around a column of bone.

He tugged hard outwards and regrouped with Orihime.

After that harrowing encounter, no further resistance was met, and soon enough, the group hit a steep slope leading downward into Hueco Mundo's sublevels. Once again, Orihime was in Grimmjow's arms as he slid down the incline and ended up in an open chamber.

Setting his baggage on the ground, the Sexta took a look around the subterranean expanse.

Dripping down from the ceiling of the cave, liquid reiatsu formed gelatinous, illuminant pools that refracted shimmering multicolored patterns onto the walls of solid sandstone. Several of these pools connected to massive underground waterways and acted as the home for mutated Gillians that had fused their legs into a tail-like growth and moved their masks to their backs where their goblin-like noses functioned as a sort of dorsal fin to suitably adapt to the aquatic environment.

These were the caverns: the level below the Menos Forest where the rainwater trickled down from the surface to create iridescent seas of raw energy.

"Beautiful," Orihime said in awe of the scenery as she sauntered up to Grimmjow.

"Feeling nostalgic, Tia?" Starrk asked, attempting to skip rocks in one of the viscous ponds.

"Not particularly," Harribel replied evenly. "Come. Sightsee later, and follow me to where I've hidden Szayel's abominations."

"Well, you heard the lady," Grimmjow mumbled over to Orihime, causing her to cease sticking her fingers in the 'water' and line up behind he and Starrk. It was a short walk to their destination, but that didn't make the sight of a mountain of round, corpselike Hollows any less dramatic. Next to the macabre spectacle lay a futon and a half circle of seats around it where Harribel waited patiently for the others to form up.

"How the hell did you manage to steal all of these from Szayel?" Starrk queried in amazement, experimentally prodding one of the rotund specimens. His face contorted into revulsion when it made a sound somewhere between a squeak and a cough.

"He traded these three hundred to me for blood samples, believing that I was simply going to eat them. I imagine that he has quite a few."

"That easy, huh?" Grimmjow commented, lying down on the futon and motioning for everyone to take up seats around him. "I think that bastard just likes contributing to trouble."

"I wouldn't put it past him."

"Quiet," Harribel instructed, leaning over to Orihime. "First, you have to undo the six months Grimmjow spent as an Arrancar to regress back into an Adjuchas. Accomplish that, and then concentrate on the repairing his mask. _That_ has been broken for a century. Will it be a problem?"

Orihime shook her head. "No, I don't think so. As long as I concentrate, the only thing that makes it take longer is how bad the injury is," she responded positively, already building up her resolve for the task ahead.

This was her first step towards returning home. Just this one thing, and Grimmjow would take care of the rest.

"Can I start?"

All three Espada were caught off guard by her enthusiasm.

"By all means, begin."

Bringing her fingers up to her hairpins, Orihime wondered how the spirits of her Shun Shun Rikka were currently feeling about her predicament. She had spoken with them several days before and received mixed reactions. All of them had praised her initiative, but everyone excluding Tsubaki had been wary of Grimmjow, warning her that she should do little to antagonize him. It wasn't the best reception, but they had all eventually approved the idea of her using her powers of rejection for his sake. With their counsel and consent, she had been given the determination to make good on her promise.

"Souten Kisshun."

Ayame and Shun'ou streaked out from behind auburn bangs at the beckon of their master and formed an elliptical barrier of orange light around the newest recipient of the goddess' power.

"I reject."

Breathing steadily, Grimmjow relaxed into the familiar static sensation enveloping his body. There was a vague current to it, like his entire being was being rearranged at a molecular level. Strikingly, as painful, not to mention impossible as that should have been, it was oddly soothing. He tilted his head back and observed the conviction playing out on Orihime's face. The Sexta had played his part well for her to go this far.

Now he could finally relax. Everything else was in the impartial hands of fate.

"How long is this goin' to take?" he grumbled sleepily.

"Not long," Orihime assured confidently. "Because you gave me that book, I know what an Adjuchas is, and the more I know about what I'm healing, the shorter it takes." Truthfully, she was a little excited to see what he would look like as a Hollow. Would he be humanoid or animal or something else in appearance? She was eager to find out, but beyond that, she wasn't particularly looking forward to what came next at all. The encyclopedia he had given her delved in vivid detail the habits of Hollows, and it was by those descriptions that she was able to understand why the hundreds of Szayel-Aporro's creations had been taken along.

Whether they were alive or dead, she didn't want to think about it. Sure it was a little selfish, amoral even, but maybe it was her will to overcome the near-hopeless situation of being imprisoned in an alien world or perhaps the outlook on life Grimmjow had taught her that drove her to her to squelch those thoughts.

Her features hardened, and she increased her concentration to the point of tuning out her conscience altogether. For a time, all she could see was Grimmjow, and all she could hear were Starrk's snores along with the gentle lapping of liquid reiatsu against the rocky shoals of the cavern.

Only when Harribel sidled alongside her was she brought her back into the realm of lucidity as the woman asked the regressing boundary being, "Can you feel anything?"

"I don't know what to-" Grimmjow's sentence was left unfinished as the glowing oval shattered into pieces without warning and a blinding blue light shot out from the epicenter of the Souten Kisshun.

Inside the resulting hurricane of spiritual energy, the Espada snarled at the discomfort of his hybridization becoming undone. He felt the joints in his knees and elbows buckle until they reversed. He felt his neck shrink and his head bend so that his spine was attached ninety degrees off from its normal orientation. And most of all, he felt the bane of every Hollow's existence reenter his mind: the voices of all those he had consumed during his nine-hundred year conquest. It was all so foreign and intimately known at once, and it could only mean one thing…

He was back.

The unmistakable roar of a Hollow reverberated through the cave, shaking stalactites loose from the vaulted ceiling and sending the surf crashing into the opposite shore.

"Okay, I'm up," Starrk growled, stretching his arms and checking to see what had changed since his nap. Harribel had relocated to the other side of the chamber with Orihime to protect her from being wounded by the reiatsu, and Grimmjow was an Adjuchas again. Fine, good work team. "Now there's a face I haven't seen in a while," he quipped, walking over to the devolved Hollow as the resident women also gathered for a closer look. He was just as he should have been save the noticeable absence of a full quarter of his mask around his left jaw, exposing part of the deformed human face that lay behind the feline shell.

Other than that, his paws and ears were a solid black, and thin ebony pinstripes grew to varying degrees of thickness as they progressed outward from his spine-like tail. Half an assortment of ivory fangs still gleamed with more predation than any natural creature's complete set while eyes of azure fire burned with the same ardor they had held for the century spent imprisoned before changing into an Arrancar.

Starrk smiled. It was good to see his friend so like himself.

"Quit gawking and let's finish this," a gravelly voice commanded with all the authority of a king.

Grimmjow eyed Orihime, ordering her wordlessly to return to her post as he wrapped his tail around his legs and sat down on the futon.

"I didn't think you would change so much," she said with no small amount of amazement, sidling up next to the broken portion of the jungle cat's face and inspecting the area. "What kind of animal are you?"

"Pantera."

"What?"

"Panther," Grimmjow translated in her language, agitated by her procrastination. "Hurry up and do what you need to do." He turned his attention to the Tercera. "Tia, how much time do we have left."

Upon being questioned, Harribel snapped out from her own fixation on the reverted Menos and drew an estimate. "The lights were shut off roughly three hours ago, leaving us with around five hours until the bimonthly meeting. Taking any longer would likely result in us being discovered, not that your screeching was helping anything. And if that happens before you've evolved, then you will most likely be executed and Starrk and I will be punished for conspiracy or treason or both," she relayed without missing a beat during her explanation of the consequences. "We're still rather well-hidden, though. This area will be difficult to investigate since pesquisa would only pick up the water down here. In any case, I suggest we resume."

Grimmjow nodded. "Fine by me."

"Okay, sit still, then, or you might move out of it and cause me to do something else," Orihime advised as she summoned a smaller orange dome over the broken mask. "So, you think we can make it on time?" she asked, refusing to look anywhere but the spot she was healing. Tiny segments of bone and patches of sinew were already starting to reform.

Grimmjow didn't dignify that question with an answer. How was he supposed to without moving his mouth and going against her advice?

"He was very close to evolving before he fought Tousen," Starrk informed the recently labeled 'dispenser of ignorance'. "We'll be cutting it close, but he can get it done. I can take you back after you're done if you want. I don't think you want to see what happens next," he offered, visibly bewildered when it was declined.

"That's okay. I want to see him…what do you all call it again? Evolve?"

_Oh? So even a human can understand the magnitude of what will happen._

The lazy Vasto Lorde smiled to himself and retired back to his seat for the duration of the second round of healing.

"Okay, it's done!" Orihime declared proudly, prevented from being thrown back from the subsequent pulse of power by Harribel.

That was unexpected. She had just assumed that his mask was necessary for him to ascend, but his reiatsu had increased drastically. In fact, he was almost as strong as he was when he was an Espada. The difference was only minute. Suddenly, she understood what Harribel had earlier meant when she claimed that he could be the ruler of Hueco Mundo. If this power evolved and hybridized, it would be a force that could shake the heavens.

"This is more like it," Grimmjow said to himself, reveling in the renewed strength that had once made him renowned in the Menos Forest. "Well, no time to celebrate." Trotting over with a gait that practically oozed arrogance, he made his way to the pile of engineered food and prepared to begin what could have possibly been the largest gorge he had ever carried out. Then again, there was that one time with Baraggan's army.

Bounding up to the peak of the mass of Hollows, he sank his teeth into the topmost entity as to prevent them from all tumbling down and rolling about.

Delicious? Not at all, but their reason for existing was made abundantly clear when Grimmjow felt the abnormally large volume of reiryoku become one with his.

_Fuck, these would've made my life a lot easier when I was a newborn._

"So what happens now? We wait?" Orihime asked curiously. No matter how hard she tried to look away, she was eerily transfixed to the feasting Adjuchas.

"Anti-climactic, I admit, but yes," Harribel said, crossing her arms while she, Orihime, and Starrk sat in their row of chairs overseeing the slaughter. "Now, be prepared to move back when he evolves. Should you stand too close, then you will risk being spiritually deconstructed from the pressure. Even a Vasto Lorde's ambient reiatsu will kill most Hollows, and one of Grimmjow's caliber would undoubtedly obliterate you. So, I urge you to stay at least fifty meters away from him at all times unless he becomes an Arrancar."

"_Until_, Tia. Not unless," Starrk chastised lightly. "It pays to be optimistic about these sorts of things." He undid the jug of sake that he had looted from one of the deceased patrols along the way and frowned. Rationing the drink would be required to make it last between two people, even if Harribel took very little.

"To Grimmjow," he proclaimed in a steadily worsening slur and passed the decanter over Orihime's head to the Tercera, "our dear companion who's finally caught a break."

Harribel took a modest sip.

The panther stopped eating momentarily to glance over to the peanut gallery. "Are you trying to get so drunk that you can use it as an alibi or something?"

"Sure, that's a good excuse." Starrk's speech was officially shot from a combination of alcoholic influence and fatigue. "I wonder if Nelliel would have came down here and watched this with us," he pondered aloud, tallying up one more allusion to something Orihime wasn't privy too. In hindsight, she probably should have requested the name of the woman in the portrait.

It was Harribel's turn to glare. "I highly doubt that she would have been able to stand it."

"I guess. She was practically a vegan when it came to eating Hollows," Starrk mumbled, pouring a bit of sake onto the ground as he spoke. "To Nelliel: the more talkative and entertaining of the two women who kept me and Grimmjow sane for sixty years of boredom. May she never be forgotten."

"It ain't booze but I'm drinkin' something! I hope that counts," Grimmjow hollered from his rapidly diminishing perch of bodies.

Harribel sighed and laughed too low for anyone to hear before taking a significantly larger swig from the bottle. They truly were one small motley crew of monsters against the entire world.

The jug traded hands rhythmically for hours

And then, disaster struck.

"Fuck," Grimmjow swore, sending the curse echoing across the cavern. "I don't believe this; I thought I was closer! She must've sent me back too far!"

"I was certain that three hundred would be enough," Harribel stated, her reserved nature being the only thing keeping her from panicking.

Still, the fact remained. All of the Hollows had been eaten.

The third Espada paced back and forth. Something. She needed something else. It was too late to acquire more materials from Szayel, and soon it would be time for the meeting where Grimmjow would be immediately found out should he be absent. She threw her blue-emerald gaze over to Starrk who wasn't helping anything by being slumped against a wall dozing next to Orihime. Useless, she thought sourly.

_Wait..._

She stopped and stared at the Primera a second time. He might turn out to be useful after all.

"Grimmjow, how close are you?" she asked without taking her gaze away from Starrk.

"Right fucking there!" came the enraged outburst. "I just need five more of those things to push me over the edge."

"That amount can be arranged," Harribel testified suggestively, advancing to the sleeping duo and nudging Orihime back into consciousness. "Are you able to use your abilities once more? Answer me quickly!" Her urgent speech had the desired effect of startling the girl out of her daze.

"Yes. What's wrong?"

"Good."

Harribel flipped Tiburon out of its scabbard and, without any regard for her slumbering superior, severed Starrk's arm precisely at the shoulder, waking him in a much worse manner than anything Lilynette had ever pulled. Luckily, his pain tolerance was quite high at the moment.

"What the hell was that for? You cut off my arm," he griped as if she had merely stolen a bottle of his favorite liquor. "You know how much of a pain in the ass having only one arm is going to be? Aizen's gonna make me a Privaron for-" His complaints were stifled by his stomach disagreeing with his recent activities, and Orihime seized the opportunity to get to work healing him once she got over the unforeseen dismemberment. Her mental health really couldn't take much more of this.

"Eat it," Harribel directed, ignoring the commotion and tossing the appendage to Grimmjow who took the time to smirk up at her.

"I think I remember why I like you. Now, get everyone back," he admonished, waiting to see that Orihime was well away and Starrk was regaining what little dexterity he still possessed in his new arm before swallowing the improvised food whole.

And then a curtain of resonance fell over Hueco Mundo. High above the caverns, the dust storm had subsided, and the innumerable battles waged between legions of feral Hollows reached new heights of burning ferocity. Thunder rankled the skies, setting the clouds ablaze with fire of the spirit. Lightning pierced the sand, splitting bedrock as the onslaught sent rivers of blood deep into the gouged earth in reverence to the birth of one of the great lords.

It had happened. He had reached equilibrium. The anguished cries of the devoured souls echoing throughout his head fell silent, and his eternal hunger was finally sated after a millennium of hunting prey in unimaginable darkness.

His Hollow hole contracted and dilated violently. His vision faded to black.

On the sidelines, Harribel felt the adrenaline rush through her veins at the sight of the whirlwind of sapphire energy that wrapped around the Adjuchas, obscuring him from view. This was it. She spared one wide eye away to where a now sober Starrk and Orihime stood behind a triangular shield. Both shared in her exhilaration within the presence of the raw power that shook the foundation of the sublevels themselves.

Miniature seas of rainwater frothed and churned in tumult as they became so dense that they transformed into solid matter.

Gradually, the raging cyclone reached its apex and then began condensing, sucked inward into a bipedal silhouette until the winds became one with the form of the shadow.

There, amidst the pacified chaos, stood Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.

Flexing his claws, he took a step forward and crushed a crystalline formation of reiatsu beneath his taloned foot. Inhaling deeply, caustic blue vapor escaped through the gaps in his fangs with each passing respiration. One thousand years of survival had rewarded him well.

He was a Vasto Lorde.

Intricate obsidian markings ran along the feline contours of his mask and pooled beneath ethereally blazing sclera dotted with golden irises. Similar jagged patterns were found all over his armored body, originating from the sizable hole in his abdomen where the tips of a waist-length mane of hair could be spotted on either side of a bony tail.

"How do you feel, Grimmjow?"

The ascended Hollow turned, now facing the girl and his pack. Experimentally, he scraped the sets of serrated blades that adorned his calves and forearms against the white, bonelike plates that were meshed to his well-defined musculature below a complete mask resembling a panther's skull.

"Pretty good," he replied humbly, well aware that the ambient power he emitted arced and crackled whenever it came into contact with something solid, pulverizing it to dust. "Pretty good," he repeated, building low, guttural chuckles that escalated to maniacal laughter. "Pretty fucking good!" As his mirth increased, the surrounding areas corroded under the strain of his spiritual pressure, leaving him chortling in a broad crater once he had finished.

Leaping out, he beckoned over the Espada and handed out their respective tasks.

"Good work an' all, but listen up, youngbloods. Tia, you take the woman back to your territory. Starrk, you change your damn shirt and hold out until the meeting is called, got it?" His tone, under the ecstatic currents gained from evolving, conveyed inarguably that he was pack leader. No one was going to dispute that now.

"What will _you_ do, then?" Harribel pried.

"Me? Isn't that obvious? I'm going to wake up Aizen."

* * *

Over the course of my many years spent working with my research team, I have come into contact with a great many strange and exciting new things. And as with all notable specimens, it is the duty of a scientist to devise a system of nomenclature to provide accurate labeling and easy identification. Below is the basic disambiguation of the classification structure for Hollows that was built on top of the crudely conceived and terribly skeletal system that Aizen-sama first used when he arrived in Hueco Mundo.

_**Class E**__: Mindless, incapable of coherent speech and even moderate cognition. Class E Hollows are the weakest and least intelligent echelon of our race. They prefer to travel and hunt alone which proves that even their survival instinct is severely limited, causing them to quickly perish. Most organisms falling into this category are malformed and often exhibit the physical characteristics of multiple species of Animalia found on Earth._

_Addendum I: Evidence is scarce, but I have reason to believe that E's are in a constant feral state induced from their instincts overriding their rational function._

_Addendum II: Lesser species such as Hollowfied reptiles and mammals will also be grouped within Class E._

_**Class D**__: A minor step up from E's, these organisms differ only a miniscule amount. Physical characteristics are likened more to a single animal, and overall power is increased, albeit only slightly. These are the only notable observational changes._

_Upon vivisection, it was revealed that D's tend to control the motor functions of their host body when combined with lesser Hollows to form a Gillian. However, this does not mean that they exhibit any recognizable personality traits that set them apart as individuals. This is confirmed by the standard masks worn by Gillians with components originating from the lower two classes._

_**Class C**__: Can solve basic problems and conceive plans that would yield higher rates of survival and food in addition to having the ability to retain its knowledge of communication learned through the previous life. Still rather 'stupid' by common standards, C's make up the majority of Aizen-sama's grand army as either servants and/or militants. _

_If a member of this tier harbors a rather strong or unique personality, it has the ability to evolve to an Adjuchas. Personally, I have observed the rate of their dominance retention at Gillian-stage to be around forty percent with a grossly large margin of error of four percent._

_Addendum I: C's often regress back into Gillians after only a few days of ascension into an Adjuchas. Why remains unproven by hypothesis, but I suspect that they experience significant difficulty consuming enough reiryoku to sustain their evolution._

_**Class B**__: The second most common breed of Hollows next to C's: B's successfully retain nearly all knowledge and experience - possibly some small fraction of memory as well - gained through their previous lives. Formation of densely populated packs and even communities complete with village-like clusters of sandstone dwellings are common amongst this group despite the fact that they are indeed the most vicious when it comes to hunting._

_B's almost always graduate to Adjuchas-level - their evolutionary peak - due to the protection offered by their primitive society. Groupthink is established early on the pack's formation and that builds a bond that keeps them geared towards a common goal at least during the dry seasons._

_Addendum I: All but three of the current Espada are considered within this class - including myself._

_Addendum II: For both Classes B and A, I have set in place a subsystem of 'High', 'Mid', and 'Low' to take into account the vast differences in the power levels of the weak and strong members of their respective cultures._

_Addendum III: Mid or High level Adjuchas B's are bipedal and cannot be likened to any animal on Earth, thus most Arrancar created from them are very humanoid in appearance._

_**Class A**__: Largely uncommon, these Hollows prefer solitary travel or with limited, powerful, but weaker companions. They have the ability to reach the pinnacle of evolution: Vasto Lorde, although few have ever done so due to being preyed upon by Menos Grande when still in their basic stage. It has also been noted that, in the past, Shinigami were ordered to destroy these organisms even at the cost of following them into garganta. _

_Fewer than thirty A's exist within windows of five hundred years. Of those, perhaps one or two will fully evolve and join the ranks of the other Vasto Lordes._

_Addendum I: Currently, Hueco Mundo has only two of these accounted for and both are already Arrancar._

_**Class S**__: Formerly known as La Gran Bestia, they're almost mythical, really. S' come across only half of a nano-percentile more than the sun rises in Hueco Mundo. That's a shame because I would love to get my hands on one that would willingly let me open them up and tinker around. Jokes aside, up to two S-Class Hollows will emerge once every millennium, and they will immediately become the target of every carnivorous organism that resides within Hueco Mundo due to their massive power. Because of this, they die almost always in their basic form, and even that is sufficient to propel a C or B-Class from a standard Hollow to an Adjuchas without any prior consumption._

_S' take extraordinarily long amounts of time to reach every new stage of their evolution, and thus their chances of survival are even slimmer. Forming a pack is just a dream for them._

_In addition to their monstrous spiritual strength, they are highly intelligent to the point where they are noticeably superior to High A's even though our resident S doesn't outwardly show it - and only hints at it in his entries in this encyclopedia - which is maddening to me as an intellectual. They are cunning, masterful over their instincts: refined beasts that can dispatch weaker Hollows a full evolution above them in a fair engagement._

_Addendum I: This is purely speculation, but the trends of previous classes would lead one to believe that S' have a strong attachment to the memories of what transpired from before they were deceased._

_Addendum II: For the record, an Adjuchas-level S suffering from a broken mask and a botched hybridization is still powerful enough to earn the rank of Sexta Espada._

_Addendum III: This was observed from only a single specimen, but it is valid enough to include within a report as informal as this. S', in their Adjuchas form anyway, share an incredible likeness to a single species of animal in the realm of the living. Strange, because all A's are very humanoid._

_-Octava Espada, Szayel-Aporro Granz_

'_Hueco Mundo and its Inhabitants' pg. 802_

* * *

Feed me reviews or I'll go feral.

**Author's Note:**

So yeah, longest chapter ever written. No big deal but HOLY FUCK did this take me forever to write. I hate when so much dialogue is necessary. Worth the wait?

Anyway, from here on out, the butterfly effect comes into play a lot more. You might've already seen it in Orihime in this chapter but it will be much more prominent from here on out. Hope you're looking forward to seeing what results from these changes. The one I have planned for next chapter will set the stage for the rest of this story.

And let me know if me explaining Bleachverse mythos via these journal entries is a good idea because I'm unsure at the moment.

Have any questions that aren't about spoilers? Message me but make sure I can message you back.

Magic, cheers then.


	4. The Bad Joke

Aizen Sousuke was supposed to be many things in the eyes of his subordinates. He was supposed to be a fearless leader that ruled fairly, rewarding those that served him well and punishing those who had the audacity to disobey him. He was supposed to be calm and collected no matter the situation, calculating victory for his forces before conflict even began. Only those with insurmountable ignorance would be blind to his incredible foresight and intelligence - tools he used unsparingly to remain one step ahead of his opponents. Coldly manipulative, obstacles of his ultimate goal were destroyed swiftly and precisely before they could even raise a sword against him. That was the kind of man he was.

Aizen Sousuke was supposed to be many things, and surprised was not one of them.

So, why was Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez standing before him as a Vasto Lorde? It was unfathomable that he, the man who was chosen to sit on the vacant throne of God Himself, had been outplayed by a mere soldier. Why hadn't the security personnel alerted him of such a colossal breach in protocol? He couldn't wrap his head around it. This plebian, this peasant whose corpse was meant to pave the way for his new world order had made a fool out of him, and he had done so from right under his nose.

"Kaname…postpone the meeting until I give further notice."

"Yes, Aizen-sama."

Tousen looked fleetingly to the Hollow beneath the elevated platform on which he stood with a troubled expression before leaving to carry out his task in a gust of shunpo.

"Looks like our little Sexta has grown up," Ichimaru Gin commented humorously, sitting over the edge of the cathedra and swinging his legs through the air childishly. In spite of his buoyant demeanor, even he was unnerved by the development, letting it show through his half-opened eyes and significantly smaller smile. Grimmjow's reiatsu was monstrous to the point of it condensing into liquid and raining down onto the tiled floor whenever he released a miniscule degree of the suppression he held over his ambient spiritual pressure. It far outclassed average Captain levels, and that would set any ex-Captain on edge.

Glancing over to his commander, he knew what he was feeling although he didn't show it.

This could be a threat, not one to be trifled with either.

"He has, hasn't he?" Aizen had regained his usual cool and came across smooth as he addressed the issue with his Overseer. Already, he had mapped a basic series of possibilities that could arise from this incident. Variables were all accounted for and countered by multiple routes in which to neutralize any negative consequences that might stem from them while predictable moves could be dealt with by the common methods in which he operated. Of course, he could just kill him now and destroy the small percentage of risk, but that would be exceedingly wasteful on his part. He would just use him to his own ends until his treachery progressed right before the point of action where he would prematurely do away with him.

He was in control. He held Grimmjow's life in the palm of his hand.

"So this is the result of one night with Inoue Orihime, is it?" Aizen asked nonchalantly, leaning back into his seat and idly toying with the strand of chestnut brown hair that dangled in front of his face. "I admit, I am impressed that you could pull off something of this magnitude in such little time. With all due respect, I didn't think you were capable of it, really."

"But here I am," Grimmjow retorted in his gravelly, distorted tone, each word bringing with it a smoky trail of blue steam through his fangs.

"Indeed, there you are," the former Shinigami mused. "So, what are your plans now?"

"Well," Grimmjow began with mock innocence, "I was thinkin' of getting a tattoo, and you happen to be the only one with any ink around here," he insinuated slyly. Harribel had been right when she told him that he wouldn't kill him on sight. Despite how he played his cards verbally, he would undoubtedly be seen as a valuable asset in the upcoming war with Soul Society.

The ruler of Las Noches chuckled at the suggestive nature of his servant's requisition. "I see…that can be arranged," Aizen said as he, accompanied by Ichimaru, descended from the throne and motioned for Grimmjow to walk with them out of the chamber towards the vault where the Hougyoku was stored.

"I assume that you are still loyal to our cause, and that this was simply an act of personal fulfillment," he stated, daring the Vasto Lorde to say otherwise as the trio strolled through the halls, every so often coming across early morning traffic that bowed on sight.

"'Course it is," the Hollow in question insisted, mentally ridiculing his leader with words that were quite the opposite. "We all pursue power, especially power that has been denied to us, don't we? Without the passion to become stronger and better, we'll be buried by those more ambitious than us. That's the way the world is; you would know. If you want something bad enough, the sun and the stars can do fuck all to stop you." This was how to appeal to Aizen, he knew it. By sharing his dogma while giving the illusion of having much lower aims than he actually did, he could form a semblance of respect.

"Words after my own heart," Aizen praised, inwardly frowning as his reiatsu was starting to mingle with Grimmjow's, vaporizing the nearby Arrancar they passed.

Eventually, the two of them, along with defected Third Squad Captain who had so far been content to listen for the duration of the short trip, reached their destination where Tousen intercepted them brazenly on sight - or would it be hearing in his case?

"Oh, Tousen-san. Have you come to watch too?" Ichimaru inquired playfully. "This one ain't gonna be an open house, so we need the company."

Ignoring him, the blind man bowed to his superior as he stood between him and the Hougyoku. "Aizen-sama, I implore you to reconsider," he requested, poorly covering up the condemnation he held for Grimmjow. "It is better to make an example of him and administer discipline for his disobedience immediately. I've already received reports of five missing sentries stationed in the fifty-seventh underground passage, and I have reasonable suspicion to believe that Grimmjow has committed even more vile acts of rebellion over the course of the past several days. Giving him any more power than he already has is reckless. It could-"

"Kaname."

Tousen stiffened and inclined his head at his lord's beckon. "You're being rude," Aizen chastised, his voice upsetting and unreadable. "While I value your opinion highly, I can't abide by your wishes when they are so disrespectful. This matter is settled, and I expect you to understand my decision," he said cryptically, earning a shimmer of hatred from Grimmjow's azure-golden eyes. "You have the choice to either observe the private hybridization of an S-class Vasto Lorde or go elsewhere until we finish here. Nevertheless, you _do not _have the choice to block the entrance of that room. Do I make myself clear?"

A bead of sweat rolled down Tousen's forehead at the deliverance of the ultimatum. "Forgive me, Aizen-sama." Quickly, he stepped out of the doorway and absconded off to pull the security tapes of the last several days from the main console. However, unbeknownst to him, the recordings of Orihime's cell contained no audio thanks to Lilynette's tampering of the system.

"That was nice of him." Ichimaru watched his fellow officer disappear behind a corner and snickered to himself. "That's the least he could do for owing you an arm and a face, isn't it?" he quipped over to Grimmjow just to see his reaction which turned out to be more or less disappointing. "When are ya going to call him on that anyway? I've been waitin' forever."

Grimmjow gave a throaty laugh, refusing to answer, and Aizen regarded the prospect as vulgar. "Please don't encourage violence amongst our family, Gin," he entreated halfheartedly, advancing to the sought after pillar in the center of the room.

"Now then, I suppose you know this works by now," Aizen surmised as he plucked the orb of distortion from its cylindrical casing, gesturing for Grimmjow to move to an open spot on the floor. He complied and knelt to the ground, scraping the tiles with the serrated blades attached to his calves. "Remain absolutely still."

With his free hand, the overlord cast a Kido spell of his own creation around Grimmjow that acted as a catalyst for the Hougyoku's effects, covering him from head to toe with what appeared to be formfitting linen bandages. Then, he erected a one-way Bakudo to ward off the tremendous release of energy that was bound to occur when the process ended. Once the stage was set, he dropped the purple sphere into a cubic slot in the barrier and placed the tips of his fingers on top of it, feeding it with his reiatsu. Greedy for more, the Hougyoku responded by darkening and penetrating his skin with wispy black tendrils.

A second was all that was needed for it to reach full capacity, engulfing the room with a blinding light before both Kido spells shattered to reveal the born again Arrancar.

The subsequent pulse of immense hybrid power could be felt by every inhabitant of Las Noches.

* * *

Shooting up from her bed, Orihime panted heavily as she gaped in the direction of the disturbance so great that it had made her insides feel like they had dropped below her knees. So that was what Grimmjow had been going for. The difference between this and his level as the Sexta Espada was mind-numbing. It was like he was an entirely different person.

Realizing that it would be impossible to attempt sleeping again after being awakened so fiercely, the captive healer swung her legs over the mattress and ventured out to get dressed.

It hadn't been too long since Harribel had deemed it safe for her to stay in Grimmjow's quarters unattended, but she was moderately well rested from the nap she'd taken while the Adjuchas had been scarfing down the synthetic Hollows earlier that morning.

Sticking out her tongue at the memory, she threw on a set of clothes, discovering that it was fairly easy to match colors when her entire wardrobe was white. She then looked in the mirror adjacent the exit of her bedroom, feeling a swell of pride after verifying that she had indeed survived the previous night. Never before had she contributed to something so grand on her own volition without her friends covering for her. Independence was good. She had made a tough decision on her own, and now she would reap the benefits of being brought back to the realm of the living once Grimmjow's pack found the right time to desert Hueco Mundo.

The redhead upturned her lips at her reflection. Job well done. Well, except her hair was a mess. Eyes never straying from the mirror, she reached for one of the brushes atop the nearby vanity and halted when a rumbling in her stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten for a full three quarters of a day. Hair be damned, she was hungry.

Leaving the room, Orihime made a beeline for the kitchen where palace attendants had come by the day before to drop off everything she would need to eat well for a month save for red bean paste. She would have to see if Harribel had any, though she had a strong suspicion that no one in her residence ate human food. That aside, she assembled a passable breakfast and loaded it onto a tray which she brought with her to a curved booth on the outermost edge of the living area.

Outside the apertures carved into the stone enclosure surrounding the table, the raging storm illuminated the walls with nebulous lightning while the constant pattering of the rain obscured Las Noches' perpetual silence.

It was comforting in a way. Thunderstorms, no matter what their atmospheric origin, reminded her of home during the summer. Festivals, fireworks, trips with her friends to the sea, these memories gave her peace of mind. She then began eating in her oddly-induced tranquility conjured forth from the inclement skies. So enamored was she in her stormgazing breakfast that she was blissfully unaware that the main entrance to Grimmjow's chambers had been forced open with ill intentions.

Out from the shadows they crept, stalking their inattentive prey not for food or entertainment but to appease their misguided sense of retribution. It was unafair. Why had Aizen-sama put this wretch on a pedestal while they, distinguished servants since his first days spent rallying an army in the forest, still pined with all their heart and soul for his recognition?

"Well, well. Look at this," a nasally female voice rang out in between claps of thunder, startling the girl away from her meal. "You have it pretty good in here, Orihime-chan."

Orihime froze. Her silverware fell from her grasp, and the hairs pricked on the back of her neck. She knew that voice. She had heard it once upon arriving in Hueco Mundo.

From the inky boundaries of her periphery, two women sidled up on to the booth on either side of her, cutting off any means of escape. "What do you want?" she whispered nervously, meeting Loly's mischievous purple eyes for only a moment before retreating down into a puddle of dread and cold sweat. Neither Arrancar paid any attention to her question and proceeded to point out various luxuriant facets of her lodgings.

"Aizen-sama must _really_ like you to stick you up in a place like this," Loly continued, swatting the plate of food from the table and pretending not to notice when it splattered against the ground. "Now that I think about it, everyone seems to like you around here, don't they?"

"Seems that way," Menoly agreed.

"What do you want?" Orihime repeated bitterly, louder than before. She couldn't deal with this. Not now when she had established a spark of hope after coming so far on her own. These two had no right to be here in Grimmjow's residence while he was away. They were trespassing on both of them at once by coming there.

Her demand dissolved the front put up by the hybrids instantly.

"What did you say?" Loly shouted, wrenching the girl from the booth and slapping her to the hard, frigid marble floor. "You think you can talk that way to me? A human like you?"

She shot a brutal kick into Orihime's chest that sent her rolling into the wall where she gasped for even the smallest amount of breath after having her lungs forcibly delfated. "Your kind doesn't belong here!" Loly's pigtails bobbed up and down as she hurried to the incapacitated girl with her counterpart right at her heels.

"She's pissing me off. What should we do with her?" Menoly queried, tapping her boot on Orihime's head, goading her to try and stand.

"Leave me alone."

Loly and Menoly looked at each other in disbelief and then down to the human at their mercy. "What was that?" the former prodded, producing her dagger-like Zanpakuto from the fold in her unusual halter top.

"I said leave me alone!" Orihime reasserted, rotating her head under Menoly's foot to reveal a pair of hardened sepia eyes. What would Grimmjow say if he saw her like this, forced to the ground by these kinds of people? He would probably call her weak, tell her that the only reason such people existed was to test those born better than them, and that she was beneath even Hueco Mundo's lowest if she let herself feel inferior in any way to _them_.

"Who the hell do you think you are," the darker-haired of the two snarled, landing another kick, this aimed to the ribs. A sickening crack could be heard from the injury, causing Orihime to whine in agony as the murderous pair took a step back to examine her. "Not so talkative now, are you, bitch? Come on, let me hear it again! Put on that act one more time before I blow you to pieces." Loly shrieked, extending her arm and opening her fist, allowing her to charge a cero.

As the glow of the hellish red light grew larger, and the radiant heat washed over her face in waves, Orihime's mind went back to Grimmjow.

_What would he do?_

_What would he do?_

_What would he do?_

The answer was obvious. No longer would she hug her knees to her chest and count her losses when fate handed her unjustifiable punishment. Grimmjow hadn't, and neither would she. He had scratched and bit and stood tall against the world to find his power. Now it was her turn. Fear turned conviction made one thing clear: she was _not_ going to die before returning to Karakura.

"Koten Zanshun!"

Tsubaki took flight from his master's hairpins at her beckon. Surging towards his intended target, the lethal sprite streaked under Loly's legs where he activated his shield and split the molecular bonds between her ankles, severing her feet from her body in a gruesome display of retaliation.

No longer having anything to support her weight, Loly fell and wailed in excruciation. Writhing in pain, her frenzied convulsions sent all manner of objects crashing to the ground as she screamed strings of curses, frothing at the mouth with rage.

Beside her, Menoly stared in abject horror at the sanguinary scene. Her roiling companion was bleeding across the floor, crawling vengefully in the direction of her attacker on her hands and knees. What kind of ability was that? She hadn't even moved, and Loly had been dismembered right before her eyes. This girl. Menoly looked from the hemorrhaging amputee to Orihime with genuine terror in her eyes. This girl was a monster.

She turned to run, only getting as far as meeting someone much, much worse than the human.

"Looks like I missed some fun."

Menoly felt all the color drain from her face and backpedaled frantically away from the newcomer. What was _he _doing here. Wasn't there a meeting, and why did he look so…different? More importantly, why did he _feel_ so different?

There in the doorway stood Grimmjow with a long mane of spiky electric blue hair visible through a much wider Hollow hole in his abdomen. His face, ornamented with jagged ebon markings under depraved eyes of matching color to his hair, openly conveyed his amusement toward the would-be home invaders. "Well, say something." A noticeably smaller, more cleanly cut fragment of ivory jaws parted as he spoke, pulling apart and gnashing together razor sharp canines.

Overall, he hadn't changed too much outwardly, although that wasn't what set Menoly on edge and muted Loly's decries of vengeance. Inside, he had become something totally different, and he was playing it off like it was nothing.

"What did you do to yourself?"

Grimmjow narrowed his gaze and approached the activity in the center of the room. "That wasn't what I meant," he growled, shrugging off the top half of the plain ensemble Aizen had given him to cover up his nakedness upon transforming. "Besides," he turned around and smirked at the twin gasps of dread he heard behind him, "this should be all the explanation you need."

There, tattooed in bold black ink on the center of his lower back, was a gothic number one.

"So now, tell me, why are ya here?" Grimmjow interrogated, resting his grip on the sword tucked away next to his hip. That action did not go unnoticed by the lesser Arrancar, further intimidating and rendering them unable to form a coherent response. "No excuses, huh? Then, I'll just have to assume it's exactly what it looks like: waltzing into my territory when I'm not around to torture my roommate," he admonished in his usual sadistic baritone, closing the gap between himself and Menoly.

"Las Noches is short on women as it is, so I'll give ya one last chance since you seem like the smarter one," he started dangerously, leaning down to her eye-level, "why are you here?"

Sixty seconds ticked by and yielded nary a breath around the room.

Grimmjow heaved a sigh when his efforts proved to be wasted. "Suit yourself," he grumbled, placing his hand on the crown of Menoly's head. At once, she jolted back to reality and frantically tried to pry his fingers off of her.

"Wait!"

A teal brow arced upwards toward the ceiling. "Make up your mind already," the Vasto Lorde said in exasperation, giving the woman's skull a firm shake. "Sorry, but you're too late to apologize," he reprimanded, focusing his reiatsu into the center of his palm. "Hasta luego." He fired a thin beam of pure spiritual pressure into her body, increasing the density until it became solid and then expanding it rapidly outward. With her physiology unable to take the strain, she promptly exploded into a fine mist of shredded gore and bone dust.

"Menoly!" Loly cried, raising herself up with her hands and glaring death to the new Primera. "You bastard, Aizen-sama's going to make you pay when he finds out about this," she warned hysterically, sweat running in thick droplets down her face when Grimmjow stepped into the pool of her blood with a resounding splash. He then crouched down close to her, and she knew her bluff had been called. That was made abundantly clear when the sound of a Zanpakuto leaving its sheathe made its way to her ears.

"I've gotten away with worse."

That was not what she needed to hear.

"Take a look at this," Grimmjow offered casually, holding his new sword proudly in front of her tear-stricken eyes. "I just made it on my way here, pretty impressive if I may say so myself. You know, this one wasn't created from a piece of me like my other Zanpakuto. It seems alright though; they have the same name anyway. Thing is, I ain't gonna keep this young thing around for very long." He rapped the blunt edge of the blade against Loly's forehead and absentmindedly hoisted her up when she recoiled from the pain. "Kinda feel sorry for it. Poor thing's never gonna get used," he lamented with feigned sorrow.

A long, clawed finger dragged across the crimson ichor in which the two Arrancar sat. It stayed there for an instant, cradling a small amount of the substance into the talon's curve, and then disappeared behind a sinful smirk. "Hey," the aeon of destruction hailed, tilting Loly's chin up so that her misery-laden amethyst orbs could witness the sight of him drinking her blood. "Don't be a stranger. Say hello to him."

The blade was thrust close enough to her face so that her tears rolled off onto the glimmering steel. "Come on, introduce yourself!" he clamored, splitting his lips into a psychotic grin as the woman's choked weeps became petrified sobs.

"Don't kill me!" she begged, pouring every ounce of her anguish into her plight. Blood loss had given her a ghostly pallor indistinguishable from that of the light reflected from the watery trails streaming down her face.

Grimmjow made a tsk-ing noise with his teeth. "Don't go askin' something from Pantera number two here when you haven't even told him your name, woman. Do I have to do it for you?"

When she made no exertion to answer other than a hopeless whimper, the newly-promoted first class soldier shrugged and removed his finger from his maw only to place it in her own. At that, Loly gave a feeble protest and groaned as her struggle served to drive the unnaturally sharp nail into piercing her tongue. It felt like a pinch, an extremely painful pinch as the taste of copper pervaded her throat. That taste didn't last long, however, and the skewered organ was withdrawn from her mouth.

Pinning her abused muscle with his thumb, Grimmjow cast a sidelong glance to Orihime. He had almost forgotten that she was there in all the commotion. Frowning at her failure to respond to what had to have been a life-saving interference on his part, he waved his weapon in front of her line of sight and found her unresponsive. She appeared dejected, half-lucid amidst the disintegrating remnants of Menoly that coated her clothes. That was no good. He'd thought he had an audience, but the girl had gone catatonic on him. He wondered if she even knew where she was.

Ah, well. Back to business. The Primera returned his attention to the bawling mess at his mercy. "Sorry, I kinda forgot where I was going with this." He tugged at her tongue, eliciting a tortured moan. "Yeah, I know. Hunting in the forest should've taught me not to play around so much. So, how 'bout we wrap this up?"

More tormented sounds followed his proposal prior to the complete removal of Loly's ability to emit any form of vocal utterances altogether.

"You sure as hell were a loud one." Grimmjow said that through bouts of ruthless laughter and drew back the hunk of wet flesh he had carved from the servant's gullet, ingesting it while he held her by the hair. She was still alive, just barely. He had taken extra caution not to cut her jugular or brainstem. "Thanks, I had fun," he struck back up again. "It's too bad I never learned your name. I guess I'll have to settle with something else to remember you by."

The dying predator-turned-prey barely had enough time to register what the Espada was saying before her lips were crushed by his own and her hollow lower jaw invaded by the very thing he had taken from her.

By the time he finally broke away with a vulgar rattle originating from deep within his chest, her consciousness had begun to fade. How had she not seen it before? This man was a demon, and had she known any better, she would have left that girl alone. He would do far worse to her than she could ever hope to.

Loly shuddered as Hueco Mundo's subzero temperature made short work of her residual body heat now that her lifeblood had nearly run dry. Her envoy to annihilation hovered above her, using the tip of his tongue to paint a crimson swathe from her chin to her neck and finally ending her suffering with a bone-crushing bite.

"Idiot," Grimmjow muttered, dispelling any evidence of his previous array of barbarous emotions as he fully retracted his fangs from the corpse. "It's too late in the game for Aizen to give a fuck about a slut like you."

He cleaned his sword on the pigtailed cadaver's clothes, and after a brief period spent surveying his reupholstered living area, the sated killer sat down and leaned on the wall beside a thoroughly distraught Inoue Orihime. "What did they want from you," he asked, watching the multicolored light cast off from the inclement weather dance across the room.

It took Orihime several minutes to answer.

"I don't know."

Grimmjow spared a fleeting look over to her. She wasn't faring well, he was certain of that. It was evident since day one that her stay in Las Noches was getting the best of her, and mixing her up in a scheme that would make her bathe in blood wasn't doing much to alleviate her crumbling faith in the lie that everything would be okay anymore. That was partially his fault, he conceded…or maybe it was all his fault.

What did it matter now, he wondered. He was free to do whatever he pleased with her. She had outlived her usefulness, and now Aizen was the only one providing for her. So, why was she still stuck with him? Unless his commander actually believed that he was beneficial to her, she had no reason being a tenant in his quarters at all. Just what the hell was he supposed to do with this sick puppy someone had left on his doorstep?

When he thought about it, why was she here in the first place? Even he wasn't cruel enough to strip someone of everything until their existence was nothing but purgatorial. He would kill them long before that possibility ever arose.

Aizen was just a breed apart, he supposed.

"Were you the one who wounded her?" He pointed to the crumpled remains slumped against the floor in front of them.

"Yes." Orihime's voice was grave, and her complexion was far too many shades whiter than normal to be considered healthy. It was difficult to tell whose actions her despondence stemmed from or if she had actually perceived what Grimmjow had done for that matter. "I…I don't know if it was the right thing to do," she choked, clutching her side and praying that her keeper could give some direction to the myriad of horrible feelings churning inside her. She was slightly relieved when he scoffed like she had said something moronic.

"They were trying to murder you, and you defended yourself. What's so hard to figure out about that?"

"It's not that simple," Orihime refuted meekly.

Grimmjow rubbed the back of his neck – his new body was a bit rigid from the transformation. "No, that's really all there is to it," he corrected sternly. "Don't let morals get in the way of you saving your own life. There's no such thing as martyrs here. It's kill or be killed, nothing more." Why was he wasting his time? Humans clung to ethics like a drowning man would a piece of timber. She was already too far gone anyway. Hueco Mundo had been steadily whittling away at her, and she was almost bare. Here, she was removed from any human element.

Isolation made her fragile. Dependence on Hollows cracked her. Adopting their lifestyle could break her.

"How do you do it?" Orihime asked, transfixed to the carnage before her. "You and my friends, all of you kill things so easily. How do you do it? Don't you ever think that it's wrong?" Her face was a far cry from the cheery persona she wore habitually like a mask. She had covered up her trauma as best she could for the past few days, but now her façade was in pieces. Having the will to harm another sentient creature had taken its toll on her psyche.

The Primera studied her from the corner of his eye. "Wrong is an abstract term," he announced over a low rumble of thunder. "For people like you, your views of right and wrong are set up so that you can fit in with your society. Me? I have no moral sense, so I can't do anything wrong because I don't know what it is." Orihime seemed to comprehend what he was saying. It was only a trick in her mind, she thought as Grimmjow went on. "Shed your human morals completely, and killing becomes just a sport."

_Just a sport?_

There was no way Orihime could see someone's death like that.

"Hey." Grimmjow nudged her leg, bringing her around once more. "Fix yourself up. I don't like living with beaten women."

Orihime nodded in understanding and got to work undoing all of the physical damage she had sustained.

"I feel sick. I need to go lay down," she said upon becoming fully restored, heading in the direction of her bedroom with movements akin to a ghost. When she reached a corner, she stopped but didn't turn. "That tattoo means you're the strongest, right? Congratulations." With that, she disappeared past the corridor to her room, leaving behind an ambience of instability in her wake.

Grimmjow watched her go and contemplated whether or not he should follow. Aizen had charged him with protecting her sanity and clearly, he was failing. Beyond that, he actually harbored legitimate pity for her, not much, yet an amount that garnered sympathy nonetheless. It was comparable to how a businessman on his way to work would regard a bird with one wing who was trying to fly on the side of the street. He knew he couldn't help her. What would a creature who ate others of his species know about that kind of suffering?

No use dwelling on it.

Mind made up, he sauntered over to one of the cameras on the ceiling and requested someone to come over and clean the mess. A status light winked in confirmation, and now he was off to his own bedroom to complete the final stage of the plan he had enacted the previous night. Sword slung over his shoulder, he walked up to the liquor cabinet adjoining the exit to the veranda and slid it open, uncovering what would be designated as Pantera Prime.

"You in there?"

The katana rattled and Grimmjow smiled. He pulled it from the cupboard and climbed eagerly onto his bed where he sat in a seiza position and positioned it out in front of his knees. In an instant, he synchronized with the manifestation of his former power and summoned forth the white panther spirit that resembled so much his Adjuchas form.

"Look at you," the phantasmal jungle cat stated appreciatively, padding circles around his partner and taking in his altered appearance. "Minus your desperate need of a haircut, I'd say I'm impressed," he added, his coarse vocalization laced with mirth. "So what now?"

"We cut to the chase," Grimmjow answered, tossing the second, insentient Pantera to a spot on the sheets beside the first.

Pantera Prime looked at the offering hesitantly. "So soon, huh? I know there's not really any reason why this shouldn't work, but are you entirely sure you want me to do this?" he questioned in all seriousness, pawing the other Zanpakuto experimentally. "I mean, I have no problem with sharing."

"Nah, fighting with two swords would be a pain in the ass. You can go ahead," Grimmjow dismissed, sounding less than attentive while he consulted a mirror for the first time since evolving. Not bad, albeit it was going to be difficult getting used to washing so much more hair. Scratch that, he'd just get Sun-Sun to do it for him.

Past his reflection, the spirit had commenced devouring the Arrancar's sealed Vasto Lorde power, taking it into his own form and combining past and present strength into a new weapon.

Chewing on the blade with metallic crunches, he ingested it slowly so as not to overwhelm himself until he swallowed all of it. "That was weird," he said flatly, slurping down a defiant morsel of silken hilt wrapping. "Tasted like I was eating myself."

Grimmjow was only mildly above seeming apathetic as he persisted in his exercises of vanity. "Feel any different?" Of course, the unified Pantera didn't have to say a word. He could immediately sense that the merging had been successful, and it was further proven when the mirror suddenly became crowded.

Now taking up the majority of the reflective glass was a panther similar to the other in characteristics. In fact, the only discernable difference was that he now sported thick black winding stripes akin to the ones his partner once wore when he was a Hollow.

Also, there was the fact that the weight of his presence had exponentially multiplied.

"If these markings weren't so bent I'd look like a tiger," he spat distastefully, analyzing himself at strange angles. "Can't argue with results, though. This was a good call."

As he spectated the show, Grimmjow couldn't help wondering exactly how he had spawned such a flamboyant entity from a segment of his own mask. If it turned out that he was representing some kind of side of him he was unaware that he had, then he would fall on the damn sword. Regardless, he was itching to try him out on the field of battle, and knowing the Espada, he wouldn't have to wait long once they found out he had been promoted to the top.

A cold wind blew, and there was a sudden end to his musings. Something unpleasant was close by, something more invasive than Loly and Menoly could have ever been. Finished with the mirror, both Arrancar and Zanpakuto sniffed the air.

"You have a visitor."

Abruptly, Grimmjow cut the spiritual tie preserving Pantera's alternate form and sheathed him courteously. He took a second to absorb the sight of the spiraling wave-like pattern that had replaced the S-shaped guard before swearing and confronting the aforementioned visitor who was busying himself by standing amongst the bloodbath in the common room with a vacuum of indifference about his general proximity.

"I mean, I liked being the Primera before, but if they're sending _you_ to clean up my messes now, then I can definitely get used to it," came the obligatory scathing greeting.

"Amusing," Ulquiorra droned, his persona doing little to validate his statement. "Aizen-sama has sent me to collect you for the meeting."

"Why's it always have to be you? Why can't he ever send any women over here?" Grimmjow groaned dramatically, flopping down on a nearby couch in a silent gesture that told the demoted Cuarta that getting him to comply wasn't going to be easy. After all, making the life of the only man who tied Tousen in terms of the sheer abhorrence he invoked from him a living hell was pretty much the only non-violent entertainment he could scrounge up around such a desolately boring place as Las Noches.

"That is most likely because you would be late for every occasion you were called for in addition to Aizen-sama being taxed with assigning messengers that had not already been eaten by you each time."

Grimmjow was taken aback, had Ulquiorra just taken a jab at him from the perspective of humor? No, the more he thought about it, the more he grasped that he was just attempting to be brutally honest, oblivious to the implications of being found funny. In retaliation, he threw what was left of Loly at him, scowling when he merely side-stepped the projectile. Had he not been in such a good mood, he might have outright attacked him. Besides, the blood and muscle tissue congealing on the floor explicitly spelled out that this was his territory.

"If your only interest with me is games, then let me ask you, do you have any intention of presenting yourself as the Primera Espada?" Ulquiorra demanded, realizing he was being overtly tested. He was annoyed as it was for being woken to find the lingering reiatsu from Grimmjow's hybridization assailing his senses. It had nothing to do with the jeopardy of his title as Cuarta, nor that someone else had surpassed him in evolution. It was that it was _Grimmjow_.

"That depends," the superior of the two soldiers said flippantly, shifting upright in his seat on the couch, "are you going to challenge me for the rank?"

Ulquiorra closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. Contrary to what he had suspected, Grimmjow's vendetta hadn't been assuaged by his promotion. "Whether I do so or not is irrelevant. You will combat only the strongest opponent, and I pray you aren't under the illusion that they will be anything short of another Vasto Lorde."

He was right of course, Grimmjow knew. The fight for a number amongst the Espada was decided by one match that acted as a precedent for the weaker challengers. If won, then the contestant would officially inherit their rank. If lost, then they would progress down the ladder until they were either victorious or perished. Far from an orthodox system, but it was effective, and the Hollow mentality respected it.

"Don't kid yourself," Grimmjow mumbled, backtracking to his room and scouring the many cabinets for a complete uniform. "If it comes down to that, then we both know who I'm goin' to be facing. That lazy bastard doesn't even want the top spot, and Luisenbarn's going to hate my guts when he sees what I've become," he added as he sat on his bed and laced up his boots, confident that he could be heard over the distance to the parlor. "Should be a hell of a fight."

Comfortable in his normal attire, Grimmjow flipped his hair out from the inside of his jacket and regrouped with his melancholic conversationalist.

"Aizen-sama must have faith in your abilities if he has already marked you as the Primera," Ulquiorra noted while he was being hastily ushered out into the halls.

"Why wouldn't he?" Grimmjow replied arrogantly, irritated that the inferior officer hadn't taken the hint and left. "There's no one here that's on my level anymore, and that's not pride speaking. That's a fact."

Ulquiorra remained indifferent at the declaration, becoming pensive. "And what do you hope to accomplish with all that power?" Grimmjow's smirk vanished at his condescension. "I do not think so lowly of you as to believe that you had no purpose in evolving other than proving that you could. Whatever it is that you are planning, it will slip through your fingers before this war is over. You cannot change the fate that has been written for us all, Grimmjow. No one can."

"Anything's better than marching to my death."

"No," Ulquiorra said, exhibiting a quantum of animation. "There is no glory to be found in a fruitless struggle." He was impassioned now, determined to speak his truth. "You and I are boundary beings, Grimmjow. Arrancar by nature are not meant to exist. We were once animals that possessed only strictly survivalist goals in life: feeding and evolving. Take those prospects away, and what is left? All we have, our only reason to live, is to fulfill the purpose that Aizen-sama has given us. When that has passed, we will fade into obscurity."

"You're full of shit," Grimmjow fired back. "If there's no place for us, then I'll make one. History won't record us, and the sun doesn't shine on us, but the three dimensions will know that there existed humans that had turned into Hollows and then took a Shinigami form. We're all three races, Ulquiorra. We deserve to live more than any of those other species."

"Your resolve is admirable, but that diamond of hope will soon turn to sand. Why you cannot see that is a mystery to me," Ulquiorra retorted coldly, smoothing over a stray lock of hair that had fallen over his eyes. "From a universal perspective, the differences between species are petty – none are more entitled to life. But breaking those differences, like splitting the particles of an atom, creates an anomaly: us. We are an insignificant obstruction in the cosmic balance, and soon the universe will right itself."

Grimmjow opened his mouth to say something in return but opted instead to close his eyes and shake his head. There was no use in arguing with someone so convinced that they were correct. He would just have to show him that he was wrong by surviving and carving himself a niche in the world, forging his own destiny. "Whatever," he murmured, catching sight of Ulquiorra's expression. It was identical to the one he wore, ancient and eroded by centuries of hard living. It would be a mistake to call it battle fatigue. It wasn't; it was a sign that coping with the possibility of ending up in oblivion without verifying that they had ever lived was starting to become harder.

"In the areas of the universe that I can influence," Grimmjow began solemnly, "I'm more than significant, and those areas are the only ones I care to acknowledge." Burying his hands in his pockets, he met lifeless juniper with blazing sapphires. "Say you're right, and the whole world comes down on our heads. Then, I'll admit that I was wrong, but I won't tell you that it wasn't worth trying. I don't make my own regrets."

"Fair enough."

A morose air drifted through the two Espada, composing a vapid, empty fog in their bodies. They knew that the twilight of their lives was at hand. The only contrast was that one wanted to go out with a whimper and the other a bang if he couldn't claw his way out of the event horizon. Neither said anything more, and Ulquiorra departed when a quartet of large reiatsu signatures made themselves known, certain that Grimmjow was no longer in the mood to skip the meeting.

Grimmjow watched him go and swore. He hated him. For years, he'd resented that man, and the day would come when he would crush him, but it wasn't now.

He sighed and leaned into the pair of sleeved feminine arms wrapping around his waist from behind, repelling the numb haze permeating his mind and substituting it with a pleasant warmth. "They say that everythin' dies, that even stars burn out. I've been alive for a thousand years, so if that's true, how much longer do I have left? I can't tell." Grimmjow rotated in the embrace, and Sun-Sun placed her head on his chest. Like him, she had been enlightened to the reality of her service to Aizen long ago. Depressed, she had searched for something substantial, something to validate her existence, and she found Grimmjow who had been seeking the same after enduring his captivity. Together, they discovered that shared warmth could provide the consummation they wanted and became each other's first partners.

With sultry caresses and cold nights spent in the comfort of a heated bed, they were pacified momentarily. But like a narcotic, the reprieve brought about from their sex ebbed away, and they needed more. For Sun-Sun, the predicament solved itself, and she gradually fell in love. Grimmjow, on the other hand, never filled the hole. Love was alien to him. He couldn't comprehend how Sun-Sun could die happy with companionship alone. He required more, an achievement of some great magnitude to leave an impression.

Betraying Aizen and forsaking Hueco Mundo was a good place to start.

"Are you okay?"

Grimmjow blinked away the distant glaze staining his eyes and hoisted Sun-Sun up so that her face was level with his. "Yeah," he said, permitting her customary kiss. "Jus' tired is all. Two transformations in a row really takes a lot out of ya." His lie was recognized, but the olivine-haired woman didn't want to press him. He never lied for poor reasons.

"Mm~, I'll prepare a bath for us later then. I can't wait to play around with that hair." Her two sister Fraccion gagged at an exaggerated volume, and she pivoted her neck to glare daggers at them before returning to her lover. "I'm glad. I thought you would look different, and I came prepared for the worst. Turns out you're just as handsome," she cooed, stealing another kiss and immersing herself in the static cloud of his enormous spiritual pressure.

"I don't mean to interrupt but we do have a meeting to attend," Harribel reminded, looking at the Primera with unveiled approval. He had truly surpassed all expectations to not only come this far but to command such power.

"Well, you all have fun then. I just wanted to see what he was like now." Mila-Rose yawned and motioned to leave. "I don't know how you can stand being up so early."

"Hold it," Grimmjow hailed, setting down Sun-Sun and reeling the Amazoness back to the entrance of his quarters. "If you have nothin' better to do, then sleep here. The human almost ate it earlier when I wasn't around, and Aizen would have my ass if that happened." Mila-Rose quickly grasped what was being asked of her and nodded. "I got a cleaning crew coming soon, so make sure they don't touch her."

"Got it."

Fantastic, now he didn't have to worry about Orihime's safety and thus could avoid spitting in Aizen's face any more than he had to. "Let's go." He strolled briskly down the corridor with the others trailing next to him, offering glimpses of the tattoo on his back when his jacket rose along with his gait.

Harribel frowned at the sight of it. She knew what that gothic number one would do to her. Nel's number was something precious to her, but it was a small sacrifice for what she had acquired, she figured. The lives of her comrades were more important than totems of a time long passed. After all, memories never died, and if she wanted to make more, then she would need to stay impersonal. Things dealing with emotions were best left with Grimmjow anyway. He could handle the stress.

She herself was never really good with feelings. It had been difficult enough appearing surprised for the cameras when she saw her pack leader as a Vasto Lorde Arrancar. Thankfully, her Fraccion had picked up the slack. Though in all fairness, Sun-Sun didn't have to pretend to be lively around him, and she had a sneaking suspicion that Apache didn't either.

The demoted Tercera smiled softly under her collar. She was happy for her companions, content to observe them as they raced down the halls and left her to her introspections.

A short while later, the group was standing in front of the meeting chamber, wary of the tumultuous aura within. There was going to be a firestorm when the Espada learned of what had happened. Already, the four could sense the restlessness past the doors rankled by the energy discharge earlier that morning. Without even seeing inside, they could tell that this was an open affair and that a large amount of Fraccion was in attendance. It seemed that _everyone_ was interested in determining the source of the disturbance.

Luckily for the pack, they were already known associates of Grimmjow and wouldn't have to feign too much ignorance since it would be highly probable for them to have already identified his unique reiatsu when it had first grown to the monstrous flame that now inhabited his body.

"Ladies first," Grimmjow said gruffly, considerate enough to not raise the Espada's hackles any further by walking in with the female Arrancar.

He waited outside, arms crossed until he was sure that they were at least seated and proceeded through the entrance.

What should he have expected, a loud yell of 'surprise' and a cake with his name on it? Inside, all that greeted him was silence. Aizen, the Overseers, the Espada, and their Fraccion were all present, but sound itself seemed to bend around the room, immersing it in a errie, stagnant atmosphere.

A hundred pairs of eyes were upon him, studying him with looks of shock, caution, and outrage as he made his way to his seat across from the predictable lachrymosity of Ulquiorra and sat down.

Kicking up his feet and balancing his chair on two legs, he took in his surroundings. Starting with who he saw first, Starrk had crowned himself the embodiment of acting by managing to stay fully awake. Beside him, Lilynette gaped in genuine astonishment, mirrored by Tesla. Nnoitra's incredulity gave way to anger, and to his left, Harribel, Apache, and Sun-Sun made sure that he didn't do anything out of order. Aaroniero was well…Aaroniero, and Yammy was much the same as Nnoitra. Szayel, thankfully devoid of most of his horde of servants, was ecstatic, and next to Grimmjow, Zommari Leroux was investigating him at a distance a little too close for his liking. Had he not been at the end of the table and able to move away, he probably would have struck him.

And then there was the elephant in the room: Baraggan. Grimmjow didn't think he had ever seen anyone so offended and infuriated at the same time. Presiding over his seat, his Fraccion shared the sentiment of their master, staring down at the man who had dared to challenge their lord's standing only to waver when said man met their eyes pair by pair. He could not wait to break their faith, and what better way to begin than by stoking the flames.

"What the fuck are you lookin' at, old man?"

In the brief window of time between that jewel of tact and the subsequent uproar, Harribel was able to close her eyes tightly shut in disparagement, Starrk retreated from the table as much as he could, and Apache and Sun-Sun giggled unabashedly. After that, the room exploded into shouts of disbelief and insults mainly hurled from Baraggan's court to Grimmjow.

At this point, all hopes of having a civilized meeting were dashed, and it took a debilitating burst of reiatsu from Aizen to subjugate the conference chamber back into quiet turmoil.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let us behave like the cultured men and women we are, hm?" Aizen's tone was firm. He drank his tea and allowed the tension to subside before continuing with, "now then, it is my pleasure to reintroduce to you, Grimmjow who has taken the liberty to undergo some…modifications to better serve our cause." Low murmurs regarding the news pooled together into a single buzzing noise, blanketing the room with a spew of gossip that lasted only as long as the ex-Shinigami granted.

"My dear Espada…" The buzzing desisted, replaced by mixed anticipations. "I have gathered you all today for an abbreviated session so that I may present your brother Grimmjow as the new Primera Espada," Aizen proclaimed, raising his hand as an indication for the crowd to bite their tongues. "It is a bit sudden, and I am aware that this promotion violates our standard procedures. For those of you who know _what_ he is, please understand and inform those who do not. Everyone, I assure you that he has been placed accordingly. However, I will make the proper arrangements if anyone cares to dispute my judgment."

As if they had been coiled in wait for their commander to finish his speech, both Nnoitra and Baraggan rose and bellowed their objections simultaneously. They glowered at one another for a moment, and the former returned grudgingly to his chair. His contention had been overridden.

This minor confrontation did not go unnoticed.

"If you want, the two of you can come at me at the same time," Grimmjow said, idly checking his nails for imaginary dirt. "Because one of you sure as hell isn't enough."

"Isn't enough?" Baraggan repeated in a cynical stupor, fists quaking in indignation. "You ant! Do you know who I am? By my own two hands, I turned entire armies to ash and crafted mere sand into a kingdom of iron! I am the emperor!"

"Wrong," Grimmjow countered vehemently. "You _were _the Emperor and only of the surface where brittle-masked weaklings go to avoid being hunted. You couldn't even conquer an inch of land in the sublevels, so you made a country out of sand and pushovers. But that's about the highest you could go as a low A-class, I guess. Count your blessings that you were already a has-been when I came to Las Noches. I haven't forgotten the S-class exterminations that you and the other Lordes massed against me. I don't think I'd forget that even if I put your head on a stick and showed it to every coward you ever convinced to follow you."

The late God-King refused to believe what he was hearing. Never in the sixteen-hundred years of his monarchy had he faced such an attack on his pride.

Meanwhile, Aizen viewed the scene with an expression of fascination one would liken to an entomologist in the field. He was anxious to see what Grimmjow could do, and while a two-on-one battle was tempting, he could not condone it. It would make him out to be callous and unfeeling, and that was something he could not afford on the eve of war. He was disgustingly below his target as it was.

His military was incomplete, skeletal. He needed ten Vasto Lordes to make up his Espada. Yet, he had three, and out of those, Grimmjow was the only one worth keeping. More like him were needed. High quality undiluted soldiers that had combat engrained into their minds. Ideally, they would be less defiant, but beggars couldn't be choosers, could they? Anything had to be better than the watered down sociopaths that plagued his army like rats.

Aizen sipped his tea and decided to put this latest stepping stone to a successful creation to the test. "The highest disputer is Baraggan then?" He brought the focus of the room to Starrk and left him to answer the indirect question.

"I don't like to fight my comrades if that's what you wanna hear," the shaggy layabout muttered disdainfully. "Go ahead and have your power struggle."

Beyond imprisoning him for an entire century, this was the reason he despised Aizen the most. These kinds of overt manipulations made him ill.

_You think I care about the tattoo I hide under my glove? I know what those numbers are for. I know that ranks are used to divide individuals with everything in common in order to keep them fighting amongst themselves instead of banding together to come after you._

"Then it is settled. Grimmjow, you will defend your position from the Tercera," Aizen stated. "The match will be held in a pre-selected area of the forest as to preserve Las Noches' structural integrity. If anyone planning to attend is uncomfortable with exposing themselves to the inclement weather, then I strongly suggest that you take rations with you." As this was being said, an attendant wheeled in a cart of the reiryoku hard candies, and almost everyone lined up to grab a few.

Initially, Grimmjow was not of this line, but as he recalled the origin of Baraggan's aspect of death, an idea wormed its way into his head. It was an idea so laughably brilliant in its simplicity that it was practically foolproof. Standing with a lopsided grin, the Primera walked over and snatched a generous handful of the confections, pocketing them as he prepared to humiliate his opponent.

* * *

If an Arrancar appears aged, then they were born looking that way as a reflection of their soul. Hollows do not grow old. The only way we can naturally die is by starving. So, if we keep eating souls, then we can live indefinitely until we get killed. That is how it has worked for thousands of years, and it's never going to change. We have to keep destroying each other in order live on.

_In my eyes, destruction is the only absolute force in this world. I have built my entire existence through the destruction of others too weak to make their own destiny. The way I see it, if you can't escape the coil of a black and white reality, then you may as well be my food so part of you can see what it's like to truly live from inside my flesh and blood. _

_That is my gift to those who live a life without real purpose._

_-Sexta Espada, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez_

_'Hueco Mundo and its Inhabitants' pg. 640_

* * *

It was late in the day by the time the match was given the go-ahead after Aizen had dispatched advance parties to clear the location in the Menos Forest of resident Hollows.

What he had selected was a large clearing of moderately level terrain encircled by a ring of crystalline trees that supported the sandstone canopy above the area.

Near the perimeter of that quartz-like foliage, Grimmjow sat alone, immersed in the ambience of the forest. Muscles taut and tranquil all the same. How long had it been since he was last there in the only place that remotely fit the concept of a home? He didn't know, not that it mattered. The past was the past, and he could not afford the luxury of living anywhere besides the present, although he did indulge in the nostalgia.

This place and all its nuances were familiar to him. From the abysmal blackness to the sounds and scents, to the rain seeping down through fissures in the surface and the glowing crimson eyes of Gillians visible through the treeline, this place was timeless in that it hadn't been altered since its formation. It was his zen. There, the old ways, the balance created from chaos was still established in stark contrast to Las Noches where the anarchy came after the order.

At ease, Grimmjow closed his eyes and inhaled the heavy musk of predation, his acute hearing detecting the approaching footsteps from a kilometer away.

"Am I intruding on some sort of battle meditation?"

Grimmjow winced and opened his eyes, piercing the darkness with his icy blue gaze. "Hardly," he said, acknowledging Aizen's presence with the minimum interaction necessary to keep him satisfied. "Ya got everyone situated yet? I could have killed Luisenbarn ten times by now."

The defected Fifth Squad Captain chuckled mirthlessly. "Is that so? Unfortunately, I can't have you demonstrate whether or not you would be capable of that. It would be terribly inconvenient if Baraggan were to die during such a critical period of our operations."

Grimmjow forced himself to remain composed after virtually being told to his face that his superior valued the Arrancar as nothing more than pawns. More than anything else, he wanted to rip him to pieces starting with that smug, patronizing mouth of his, but he couldn't, not now anyway. If he even drew his weapon on him, he, the Overseers, and more than half of the Espada would come down on him in a heartbeat. And while he had confidence in his newfound strength, he wasn't deluded into thinking that he could survive that kind of retaliation.

Waving off those kinds of self-depreciating thoughts, the Primera stretched to his full height and peered past Aizen to where Baraggan stood glaring back at him along with his Fraccion. "He's a stubborn guy, you know?" He eyed the Tercera's axe embedded into the ground. "He won't admit defeat until he's one foot in the grave. What if I accidentally kill him?"

"You will not," came the rigid reply. "You are on thin ice, Grimmjow, and I will be there to witness it if it breaks. I advise you to refrain from provoking me any further than you already have."

Grimmjow smirked. He had caused Aizen's game of fraudulently polite conversation to backfire, putting him in a better state of mind to spare Baraggan's life. Still, it that wasn't suffice to say that it would be easy. What had started off as a flawless day had been effectively ruined by Orihime and Ulquiorra's despair hovering around in his brain like a dark cloud. And whenever he encountered such a cloud, he often dispersed it with the carnal satisfaction gained from crushing a life.

Thinking of the best way to use the upcoming fight to get rid of that unsavory cloud as he fiddled with the meticulously unwrapped reiryoku candies in his pocket, the blue-haired hybrid made his way steadily over to the center of the clearing. There, a small line of spectators mostly made up of Espada enjoyed the opening act consisting of the magnificent hellraising of Baraggan's court versus Apache and Sun-Sun who had apparently overheard them talking ill of their lover.

"Youngbloods," Grimmjow commented under his breath, shaking his head. Truthfully, he was proud of the two women for standing up to greater numbers for something they – or at least one of them – cared about, but they were cutting in on his duel. "Aren't you goin' to stop them?" he asked the elder scar-faced Arrancar.

"Why should I?" Baraggan spat, no less upset over being ridiculed than he had been hours ago.

"Because your servants are gangin' up on 'em like a pack of rapists. That doesn't bother you?"

"If you're so concerned about your concubines, then go tether them to your bedpost and keep them away from the dealings of men."

Grimmjow's eyes narrowed dangerously. He had been trying to get to get a rise out of his challenger, and yet he was the one ending up insulted. That front exhausted, he opted for another. "How about we compromise then? _I'll_ break it up by calling off _your_ Fraccion," he negotiated sardonically, entering the fray instead of bothering to stay for Baraggan's rebuke.

To his disappointment, most of the engagement concluded immediately upon his arrival, leaving only the seemingly unaware Apache and Avirama Redder screaming about who was going to kill who.

Upon his continuing approach, Sun-Sun exited the nexus of the dispute. "They said terrible things about you," she explained, hiding her shame for participating in the outburst under her sleeve as she took refuge next to Grimmjow. "We couldn't let them get away with it." Her coral orbs shimmered with crocodile tears, shed in hopes of bringing death to the six who disrespected the man she loved.

"I'll take care of it."

A short distance away, the loudest pair in Hueco Mundo was still polarized on opposite ends.

"He can grow his hair out as much as he wants, His Majesty will kill him dead in one shot!" Redder exclaimed, illustrating his assertion with his own Zanpakuto on an invisible enemy.

"Bullshit!" Apache hollered back, moving into an offensive stance with her glaives. "That old fuck doesn't have a chance in hell."

"You bitch!" Redder's face went scarlet with rage. "I'll slaughter you for your contempt against Baraggan-sama!" he snapped, sending his katana down in an overhead cut fueled by his desire to obliterate the irreverent peasant. Yet, all his punitive fervor left him when the blow was blocked by a horizontal parry from an outside party.

Relaxing her guard, Apache huffed from under her rescuer's block. "I can take him on by myself," she grumbled to the not-so-mysterious swordsman, feeling her cheeks grow hot from the possessive arm curled around her slim waist. She looked over her shoulder, anticipating Grimmjow to be giving her his usual cocky grin. What she got in actuality was a malicious visage aimed at Avirama Redder.

"Maybe, but I can't risk having you advocate for me. It would make me look weak if you lost, wouldn't it?" Grimmjow shoved the offending blade away. "And you," he seethed, pointing Pantera at the avian Fraccion. "You're either insane, or you really have some serious guts to try and brain one of my women like that. Too bad for you, the fact that she's right about who's gonna win is going to be history by the time you're reincarnated."

Redder fumed and regained his bearings, brushing off the attempts from Findor Carias and Ggio Vega to get him to abandon the argument. "Big words from someone who's about to be turned to dust by His Majesty," he said, pretentiousness dripping from his tongue as he launched another vertical strike that landed unimpeded on Grimmjow's forehead.

Shocked that the attack had actually connected, he blinked dumbly as the metallic 'clang' produced from the impact rang through the empty subterranean expanse.

Grimmjow looked up towards the spot of the collision, doing the best he could to get a glimpse of it to gauge if he was even bleeding. "I have to hand it to you. You really do have some guts to pull that on me. You'll have to do better than that though," he chided, breaking contact with the Zanpakuto when its owner's nervous fidgeting was causing it to grate along his perfectly uninjured scalp. "When I was an Adjuchas, I'd been an offensive-type Hollow. So, I thought you would at least be able to break the skin, but I guess I developed some decent defensive abilities when I evolved."

_My body probably reacted to my will to survive._

"Apache."

The sapphire-headed woman secured her weapons to her wrists and gave Grimmjow her full attention. It was exceedingly rare that he should call her by her name. "What is it?"

He gestured to the stunned Redder. "What should I do with him? Your call."

Apache shrugged. "Kill him. It'll save me trouble of going hunting later."

"Alright," Grimmjow confirmed, gripping Pantera and stalking up to his failed assassin. "Well, you heard the lady. Your time's up, but on the bright side, now you get to see what a real sword stroke looks like," he offered as a mock consolation, channeling his power into his sword until it was ablaze with ethereal blue flames.

From the sidelines, Sun-Sun furrowed her brow at the strange technique's synthesis. "That's just like-"

"Ola Azul," her mistress finished knowingly, collecting her subordinates and returning them to the seating area for their own safety. "An unrefined attack that requires both great amounts of spiritual energy and the control to manipulate that energy into cutting pressure. It is unsurprising that he would think to use it to increase his range against Baraggan."

"So that idiot Avirama is just practice?" Apache snorted.

"It would appear so," Harribel replied dryly, surveying the scene in front of her as Grimmjow unleashed a wide arc of solid reiatsu from the tip of his sword and left a jagged chasm in the earth where Redder once stood.

Apache blanked. "How am I supposed to eat him after that?"

"He didn't even try to run," Sun-Sun observed uneasily, mentally wrestling with the sudden sense of dread that had descended upon her after the projectile was fired. It was like someone had bound her hands and feet, smothered her in a heavy cloth, and thrown her into a deep arctic lake. It was the force of Grimmjow's presence weighing down on her, and her eyes magnified to the size of dinner plates when she realized that he had been previously suppressing it all inside his body. If this was the concentration he naturally emitted in a relaxed state, then…

"Paralysis," Harribel said as she flared her own reiatsu to counteract the negative effects that her pack leader's was having on her Fraccion. "You can feel it, can't you? That overbearing aura of destruction."

Back on the battlefield, Grimmjow hopped over the rift marring the forest floor and passed the frightened, paroxysmal quintet of lesser Arrancar. Casually arriving to a stop a small distance from the older of the two self-proclaimed gods in the vicinity, he registered that Aizen's lack of interference was to be interpreted as permission to begin the match.

"Not even lifting a finger for your servant, huh?" he said neutrally, taking a loose combat stance that was neither guarded nor defenseless. "Can't say that I wouldn't have done the same."

Baraggan scoffed and hefted his axe with a single hand, placing it parallel along his shoulder blades. "It's of no consequence to me if a man who cannot finish what he starts is erased from my service, but enough of that triviality. You've tarnished my name, and I'm eager to make you suffer, boy. Now come at me!" An explosive pillar of maroon reiatsu punctuated his taunt, blasting through the vaulted rock shelf high above and causing a mixture of sand and rain to pour down from the surface.

Grimmjow's eyes hardened as the outpouring coated his skin in adhesive granules. Things were getting serious too quickly for him to take leisurely. The fact that the Tercera's display was still going strong was proof of that, and the precipitation was an added obstacle. Already, he could feel it eating away at his sanity, giving his instincts reign over his cognition. Good thing he had thought ahead to bring the candies.

"Fine then," he barked over the storm, azure steam rolling off his muscular frame while his sclera began to Hollowfy. "I'll have your face in the dirt in five, you watch!" The vapor thickened and expanded outward. It sought out Baraggan's discharge of energy and penetrated the crimson tower, ravaging it from the outside in until the voracious blue smoke overtook it completely and dissipated into a syrupy fog. Soon, it had spread so far that it was all anyone in the woodland confines could breathe, burning the lungs of the weaker bystanders and deteriorating the ground from which they spectated the duel.

_What is this?_

The dethroned Emperor waded through the haze, cursing the poor visibility. His pesquisa was useless in locating Grimmjow, he discovered. He was _in_ his reiatsu, turbulent and chaotic, inconsistently changing forms of matter and destroying everything that couldn't resist it. At first glance, it was similar to his Respira when the two abilities were compared, but he swiftly dismissed the idea. While he indiscriminately aged all that he came into contact with, this dismantled and devastated only what it could spiritually subdue regardless of how physically durable it was. Interesting, he thought as the mist swirled upwards in a rotating column and liquefied before raining back down beneath the eroded forest floor and into the caverns.

Barragan tightened his hold on his weapon. Pure killing intent was being transferred through the otherworldly shower, filling his head with barely audible whispers promising pain and annihilation.

He ceased moving. Grimmjow was nowhere to be seen, and he had no desire to spring a trap. Patiently, he waited for a chance to counterattack. Above or below or from behind? Where would he charge from? How would he begin their battle? His calculating gaze darted around the umbra, every so often receiving illumination from the storm coming in through the hole he had punctured in the overhanging desert.

_Below._

A blade rocketing at supersonic speeds entered the former Segunda's time distortion field, giving him the narrow opportunity to place his axe in front of his heart to deflect the potentially lethal strike.

"Damn," Grimmjow uttered dully, swinging a rogue tress of wet hair away to reveal a pair of eyes that were no longer adorned with any trace of Hollowfication. "Forgot about that." He rolled deftly away from the path of Baraggan's weapon and fired off a diversionary crescent of reiatsu to allow him time to strategize as he produced the remaining contents of his pockets.

* * *

"What the hell _is_ that?" Apache wheezed after Harribel had transported her and Sun-Sun out of the torrential downpour that was Grimmjow's reiatsu combined with the monsoon.

"Not even Starrk-sama has pressure like that," her sister Fraccion coughed, touching down on a tree branch and assessing the aftermath. Everyone except for Aizen had scattered, that much could be discerned with pesquisa. Pinpointing where they were with all the spiritual fallout on the other hand, that was difficult. By eyesight, a furiously hacking and note-scribbling Szayel-Aporro was the only person she could see that wasn't already sharing her branch.

She looked back to the tempest, planning on making room for Harribel to take the forefront of her perch when the spot was usurped by a less-than-welcome man bearing disturbingly gaunt, vulpine features.

"I hate bein' wet," the newcomer said plainly, his face resembling the mask of Shakespearean tragedy to compliment his complaint. "An' those guys had to go and make it rain right on my head. How rude." He took exaggerated notice of Sun-Sun and put his hands on his knees, placing his half-hidden eyes directly across from hers. "Wouldn't you say so?" His voice was subtly playful but muddled over with many hidden tones that gave the flustered woman the sense that bugs had burrowed under her skin.

But then, all at once, white and bronze filled her vision instead of the disconcerting countenance of the Overseer.

Ichimaru Gin rose as his smile stretched ever closer to his ears. "Hello, Harribel-san. Enjoying the weather more than I am, I take it," he greeted cordially, wringing out his robes more for effect since he had fled the various liquids too early to be soaked. "The environment here is dreadful if you don't mind me saying so."

"What do you want," came the terse response.

Rolling with her edginess, Ichimaru made special care to draw out his reason for approaching her as long as possible. "Well, seeing as how Aizen-Taicho is stayin' at ground zero over there, and that stick in the mud Tousen is no fun, I need someone to view the fight with. Believe me, I tried to find Wolf-san first. I think he left, though, so I'll make do with you." He could plainly see that her concern for the two behind her was impairing her usual calm and that her patience was running short. "Anyways, yer looking well. How ya be-"

"Enough," Harribel interrupted, motioning with her hand for her adherents to leave. "Why have you come to me outside of Aizen-sama's will?"

"Protective aren't we? No need to worry, Harribel-san. I'm not interested in 'em."

"Then why have you come to me? You're fully capable of tolerating Grimmjow's reiatsu where you were with Aizen-sama." Harribel reiterated warily, willing herself not to rouse any suspicion by verbally acknowledging Apache and Sun-Sun's hesitance.

At her claim, Ichimaru heard the Fraccion reluctantly depart and drew closer, his breath mingling with the cold air. "You know, I don't care if you drop that 'sama' stuff around me." Harribel's blood froze in her veins. "Holding him in that kinda high regard isn't necessary since he ain't here and," he leaned in past her widened turquoise eyes and muzzled his words down to a whisper, "it happens to upset me."

"Get away," the Cuarta hissed, taking a step back. What kind of ill-thought trick was this? Was he toying with her because he already knew what she had done? It didn't seem like a coincidence that he had mentioned going after Starrk. If so, then she had nowhere to run, and logically, it wouldn't hurt her chances to act oblivious to her own treachery. "Why are you saying such things?" she demanded as if highly offended.

Ichimaru was unaffected by her front. "Don't be that way, it's not like you," he scolded. "Give me some credit. I'm responsible for half of Las Noches' security, aren't I? I've known about your group since way back when there were only four of you, so drop the act. You, Jaegerjaquez-san, and Wolf-san want out. You can't fool me in'ta thinking that you don't." He was serious now, his silver hair refracting light from the distant battle above his humorless expression. "I was going to ignore ya right up until the end, but that," he pointed to Grimmjow, "gives you a bit of ground, doesn't it? Our Primera sure is a creepy guy. With him on your side, you might actually pull off your little escape plan."

Harribel remained cautious. The situation was black and white, either a trap to divulge more information or an unexpected opportunity to gain a powerful ally. The ball was miles away from her court. "What will you do with the information you have on us?"

"Nothing."

She was incredulous. "Do you expect me to entertain that sort of blatant lie?"

"Is the truth that important to ya? I know enough to have you executed for treason as it is. Ain't no sense in asking me something like that. if I want you to die, then your head and the heads of your friends will all be buried in the sand," Ichimaru said blandly, slightly annoyed when he saw that Harribel fought the lack of options before she finally understood. "Get it? You have nothing to lose by giving it to me straight," he amended coaxingly. "Now here's the pitch: I'm a freelancer, and I don't want to join your club, but I think we can collaborate when the time comes if you make it that far."

"You are betraying Aizen?" The Espada could hardly believe what she was hearing. The boldness of his solicitation was ludicrous.

"I would have to have been with him at one point to betray him, Harribel-san. Remember that, and stay in touch. I'll be seeing you soon." With that, Ichimaru vanished in a gust of shunpo and left a dumbfounded Harribel wondering what she should do next.

* * *

By this time, it would be an understatement to call Baraggan Luisenbarn angry.

After Grimmjow had caught him by surprise and faced his ability to stall time, the younger Arrancar had employed a defensive strategy that consisted of him effortlessly dodging his every attack and taunting him with purposefully slow blasts of energy. It was as if he wasn't taking him even remotely serious, and the most aggravating aspect of it was that he had stayed infuriatingly incommunicative. The man had been unresponsive to his threats since his initial retreat. That silence, along with everything from his eyes to his movements, told the monarch that his opponent was nothing short of bored. And that was unacceptable.

Grinding his teeth, Baraggan swung his axe with all his strength only to have it swish harmlessly through the air yet again as the momentum forced his body to follow through with the empty strike. Having cleanly avoided it, Grimmjow merely sighed and used his blinding speed to enter the offset Tercera's time dilation field unscathed, making a foothold of his crown-like mask fragment, and stepping over his head for no reason other than to demonstrate that he could.

Naturally, that wasn't received very well.

"Bastard!" Barragan roared, erupting into a frenzy of attacks that sent red waves of pressure cast off from his massive weapon cleaving through the surrounding trees. "Fight me, you insect!"

Grimmjow was fast, too fast for the elder hybrid to keep up with. That much was apparent from how he danced around his offense with well-timed punches of sonido that were impossible to track by sight. It was clear that he wasn't going to beat him as he was, but he wouldn't relent. To release first would be a sign of desperation, so he continued his assault until the air boiled with his bloodlust and the nearby terrain was leveled. But there was Grimmjow, exhibiting the same apathy and pristine physical condition.

Baraggan was stupefied. Twenty-four hours ago, he wouldn't have distinguished the Sexta Espada from the servants at his beck and call. Yet today, right in front of him, he was pushing him to his limits without so much as a single scratch to show for it.

_How did he obtain this kind of power? Even his sword is not normal. I can feel it. _

The Primera was motionless as his inferior officer pondered his ascension. He knew that only a little more was all that was needed for him to go all out in an attempt to salvage what pride he had left. And when that time came, he would crush him. For now, he sheathed his sword and that was the final insult.

_The audacity of this ant!_

Baraggan lunged and brought his axe down in what he had assured himself was a deathblow. No such luck, however. Grimmjow had stayed rooted to his position and blocked his stroke completely with the gap between his right index and middle fingers, causing a rush of unabsorbed force to careen past him. Barely giving the other combatant a chance to register what had transpired, he used his free hand to punch the cleaver away and then delivered a punishing, hypersonic kick to the Tercera's jaw, sending him crashing into the lightless depths of the caverns where the murky darkness enshrouded his descent.

Somewhere in the inky shadows, there was a loud splash. Grimmjow let out a series of muffled laughs. That should have been more than what was required to escalate the fight to the next stage going by the temperament of the man contesting his rank. Sure enough, there was a vehement surge in the cavernous sublevel, and out from the depths, a billowing indigo miasma gushed forth.

Weathering rock to dust and decaying curious Menos lured into its path by the engagement of the two Vasto Lordes, Respira swelled into a lethal updraft aimed to reduce Grimmjow to ash in the wind.

Grinning sadistically, the target moved out of immediate danger and barreled down to the source of the purple smoke that had risen to meet him. "This mockery has exceeded my patience," Baraggan's disembodied voice boomed as he emerged from the blackness in full Resurreccion with the obsidian axe, Gran Caida, in tow. "You'll rot for your heresy against your god, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez!"

_I don't think so._

This is what he had been waiting for. He had held back his urge to break his challenger during their skirmish to take him down at his strongest. There was nothing left to stop him now. Recklessly, Grimmjow flew unarmed towards the skeletal Emperor, seemingly unaware of the risk to his own mortality.

"How foolish," Baraggan cackled, believing victory to be firmly in his grasp. "Allow me to assist your suicide." He released another dusky cloud of Respira and chortled raucously when Grimmjow dove right through it, coating his entirety with a wispy film of the deteriorating smog.

Still he kept going, undeterred from contracting a fatal amount of the mist. How? Baraggan's mind reeled with unanswered questions as a jolt of fear ignited panic within him while Grimmjow closed in undetered. Was he immune to death? Such a dosage of his ability should have starved and killed even the most well-fed Hollow in a microsecond. To survive it and remain lucid, non-feral…that was impossible.

"What are you?"

Grimmjow was before him, in his attack range, and the incensed lich took advantage of the opening that his confidence provided by hurling everything he had into a diagonal slice meant to split him from shoulder to kidney.

"I'm the King."

Baraggan's eyes doubled in size, not from those three simple words but from what he had seen in Grimmjow's mouth when he spoke. Barred by only the back of a hand, Gran Caida came to a halt midway through its trajectory once again. "Your reign's over, Luisenbarn. Nature has given me the power to take your title," the hand's proprietor said arrogantly, revealing the dozens of rapidly diminishing spheres of reiryoku behind his teeth.

"Nature has decreed no such thing!" The fallen lord readied another blow. "I'm the ruler of this world, and no false power can take my crown. None! To believe yourself capable of doing so is blasphemy," Baraggan howled, sweeping his arm just to have it intercepted when Grimmjow locked an iron grip around his wrist. That was it. His speed was too great. He was defeated no matter how much he denied it. All he could do was watch his broken empire shatter to pieces as Grimmjow tore the flowing fur collar away from his robe and sank his canines into his collarbone, consuming his very life to ward off Respira until he reverted out of his released state from weakness.

"It's not false power, old man," Grimmjow said upon ripping his fangs out of the former Segunda, licking the black blood of the fellow Vasto Lorde from his lips and dropping him to the ground. "Even _real_ gods can be destroyed." He gave his exhausted, heavily breathing opponent a rib-cracking kick to his side and followed after his rolling body. "I thought you could put up a better fight, but I guess that breath of yours was the only thing keeping you at a high rank. I'm disappointed."

Panting, Baraggan fought to stand, only getting as far as onto his hands and knees when he began coughing up a foaming mix of fluids from the injury he had sustained. It was no use. The volume of strength that had been drained from his soul would take days to recover. He collapsed to the forest floor, hundreds of Hollow eyes witnessing his downfall.

Grimmjow was above him, drawing his sword.

"Don't misunderstand, I never really had it out for you," he started dispassionately, flaring his reiatsu to its maximum and further pinning the disgraced sovereign. In seconds, it became so dense that solid blue crystals formed around Baraggan's body, feeding on his flesh and the meager portion of energy inside that hadn't been seized. "I don't care about being the Primera. A number doesn't need to tell me what I already know. I just wanted to test myself out and have some cheap fun while I passed you by on the food chain, nothin' else to it."

Grimmjow positioned his blade over the Tercera's skull and gave a disgruntled 'tch' when another Zanpakuto diverted his thrust into the dirt. Who else but his Shinigami overlord would dare to interrupt him?

"We have not come to observe an unwarranted execution," Aizen stated smoothly, sliding Kyouka Suigetsu back into its scabbard. "You are finished here. Well done."

"He'll be a problem if he's left alive," Grimmjow refuted evenly, resigning his wish to perform what he considered a mercy killing. In truth, his interest in a deathmatch had evaporated long ago when he couldn't glean a scrap of difficulty from the prospect. Where was the entertainment when he scantly had to use Pantera let alone a Resurreccion?

Seeing that his leader wouldn't budge on the matter, Grimmjow shrugged, secured his sword at his hip, and walked off.

"Can you move?" Aizen glanced down to the wounded, prone figure at his feet.

Baraggan didn't respond. He laid there, watching the Espada and his remorseful Fraccion file out until he was left with only his superior and the hard earth beneath his back. He had been beaten, thrashed to an extent that eclipsed what Aizen had done to him dozens of years prior. All from a man that had spat on his pride and put him on the verge of death, and for what? For fun? A cold flame was kindled in his heart at the notion.

His lungs shuddered to accommodate the first strained breath he'd inhaled after Grimmjow's reiatsu had dissipated and made respiration possible. The air was frigid.

He sat up, feeling his battered muscles tear from the harsh movement.

"If you are extensively injured, Inoue Orihime will be fetched to heal you."

_Inoue Orihime?_

Eyes outlined by silver brows and webs of thin wrinkles glazed over with a realization that made Baraggan want to vomit. So that was how he had done it. He had used _her_ to make him into that monster.

THAT WOMAN?

The cold flame had been stoked.

* * *

Author's Note:

First thing's first: I want some feedback on whether or not you guys would like me to incorporate a bit of Grimmjow's history before becoming a Hollow into this story or if you think there is enough going on already. I wouldn't bring it up next chapter or even the one after that but I have a desire to do it (actually, I already wrote a good part of it which will be uploaded as a one shot if you think it's a bad idea to tie in it with Change My Fate). This is something I need a reader's perspective on.

Anyway, not too happy about the flow of this chapter. So if you want to really make me feel happy, tell me I did a good job on it. I just think I raced from one plot point to another too quickly with very little exposition. *sigh* Oh well. I'd also wanted to do more but it probably would have ended with this chapter being over 20,000 words which is a bit much so next time it is. I think that was the best decision.

That's it for now kiddos. Drop me a review and/or message me if you have any questions. Allow me to answer one for you right now. Yes, Grimmjow is going to be really, really strong if you haven't figured that out already.

Edit: As some of you know, the new character romanizations just came out and I'm as against them as I am the new Harribel flashback in the anime. Beaten up by a weak Arrancar? Really? So the only name I'm switching is Barragan to Baraggan, that's it. No Apaci or Sui-Feng or Sung-Sun in this story.

Until next time.


	5. Abyss

_What is there to be seen under the surface of our mortal passage?_

_Peel away that top layer of cognition. Lay bare the minds of all living things. There, beneath the thinly woven veil of fraudulence crafted by our higher functions exists an obscured webbing where noble and benign thoughts must first pass before being translated to action. Most are unaware of its presence, yet they feel it clawing away at their barricade of ethics and moral conceit, luring them down with the bait of instinctual temptations into a pit of selfishness, malevolence, and ultimately, despair._

_From what I have gathered in my time observing those that reside within the world of the living, humans tend to combat the urge to peer into the empty vacuum that hides inside the exalted falsity of their hearts. Naturally, that predisposes the majority of Arrancar to share the same beliefs and practices. To those that fight to stave off the darkness, do not run, do not resist, abandon all hope of escaping that voracious corruption, and give in to your curiosity._

_Delve into that despondent abyss of your own psyche and embrace the immeasurable power gained from losing all attachments to illusionary obligations. Free yourself from all feeling, render your world barren. Accomplish this and you are adequately prepared to face your inevitable annihilation with the knowledge that everything is not going to be alright in the end._

_-Cuarta Espada, Ulquiorra Cifer_

'_Excerpt from an unknown document.'_

* * *

"This is a lot harder than I thought it would be."

A soft, yet no less grating chorus of metallic twangs filled the recently-demoted Tercera Espada's parlor, its source attempting to shape them into a melody of sorts despite the fact that he harbored no experience with the object resting in his hands.

Time passed without improvement, and Starrk sighed wearily. He ceased mistreating his newly-obtained acoustic guitar and peered over its frame to consult the piece of instructional literature that he had spread out prematurely on a nearby coffee table. The other occupants of the room paid him little mind. "I'm guessing that this is one of those things that requires a persistent effort," he grumbled to no one in particular, hefting the wooden instrument and situating it awkwardly on his knee. Carefully, he rotated the tuning pegs at intervals that were fractions of degrees and gave an experimental strum after each adjustment.

This was something he had wanted to take up ever since he had learned that such a thing existed, and he refused to be discouraged by his lack of any inborn talent. To him, music was a peaceful solution to the threat of cabin fever posed by Las Noches' recurring stretches of tedium between notable occurrences, one that he thought suited him well. So, when Aizen had granted his elite soldiers a single luxury item to be added to his weekly supply manifest from the Living World, he had commenced stockpiling the necessary materials for which to teach himself how to play. One week prior, the time had finally come to request the article itself, and lucky for him, the shipment had managed to arrive ahead of the rainy season – distributed with only a minor delay.

"I hope you aren't plannin' on taking that thing with you when the time comes to fight our way out of here," Grimmjow said airily, puffing away at the traditional Japanese pipe he too had received from the delivery.

Sitting adjacent from Starrk's chair, the Primera had claimed one of Harribel's abundant couches as his own, using Sun-Sun's lap to support his head as he idly read through a stack of books at speeds surpassing the performance of most publicly available computers.

It was evident that his evolution had a profound effect on his intellect, giving him the ability to absorb, analyze, and break down information at a rate much faster than what he had been able to accomplish in his previous form. Even at rest, he could sense the exact trajectory of his olivine-haired consort's hand as it approached and calculated the time it would take to connect to his body. This sort of passive skill would be useful in a combat scenario, but seeing as how the present was tranquil, he simply let Sun-Sun's smooth fingers glide over his forehead. There, they lingered momentarily before lovingly brushing aside the long strand of hair that had fallen over his eye, guiding it to where his electric blue mane had pooled together off to her side.

"I suppose that you will ask me to do the same with my belongings."

Grimmjow inhaled a rich swell of tobacco smoke and cast his gaze lazily over to where Harribel had constructed a makeshift art studio in the center of the salon. Social obligations had made it so that she still had to show consideration towards her guests while she reacquainted herself with different brush strokes through various styles of calligraphy.

"I have come to accept the fact that I will have to abandon what I have created here. That is fine. I feel an intrinsic value for only a select few pieces," the Cuarta said offhandedly, concentrating on her work. It had been far too long since she had last painted.

"Your sweep is angled too high."

Case and point. Harribel sighed and studied the character she had just finished before directing a single hardened eye behind her to Grimmjow's own mirthful pair of cyan orbs. "So it seems," she uttered tersely, removing the paper from its mount and scrapping it in an exponentially growing pile of imperfect products. That taken care of, she dipped her brush in the ink well and turned her back to the easel, vowing to resume when annoyance and disruption weren't in the place of inspiration and diligence.

"Isn't there a human in your custody?" the bronze-skinned woman asked sourly in retaliation to Grimmjow's earlier observation as she seated herself elegantly on a daybed across from her comrades. "Shouldn't you be taking care of her?"

An answer came in the form of a stiff finger, and Harribel frowned under the veil of her collar. How could Grimmjow be so carefree after slapping Aizen in the face, humiliating Baraggan, and inheriting the rank of Primera all in the same day? With a look of disdain, she stared at his reclined posture, probing the aura of supreme confidence and power that surrounded him. Discovering it to be impenetrable and finding no traces of apprehension for their collective future, she ended her examination but remained curiously fixated on her superior officer. Where did that ease come from?

He carried himself like he already knew that the outcome of their eventual betrayal would be successful. Narrowing her eyes, Harribel decided to test his fortitude. "Ichimaru knows about us," she stated, fully expecting Grimmjow's lackadaisical ambience to shatter into pieces from the bold disclosure. Yet, all he did was roll to his side to face her, donning a pensive expression as Starrk's practice didn't miss a beat.

"When did ya learn that?"

The female Espada blinked. Sun-Sun was the only one in the room that had shown any amount of surprise. "He approached me two hours ago during your fight," she began, her voice laden with poorly concealed disbelief, "did you two already know?"

"Kind of."

Harribel brought her hand to her forehead and inhaled a steady breath. She was being tried. Something of this nature wasn't easily forgotten, and that meant that it had been deliberately kept from her. "Tell me what you know," she demanded, glaring at both of her companions with eyes that could produce answers from tongueless corpses.

"We drink together sometimes," Starrk said with a shrug.

"How is that relevant to my question? And I thought you despised him."

"Despise?" The Segunda chuckled, his novice fingers striking against the finely-tuned chords of his instrument. "I don't know about that. He irritates the hell out of me, but we're not on the level of say Grimmjow and Tousen." A growl came from the couch, and Starrk paused to apologize. "So, to answer your question, Grimmjow and I were drinking one night on top of the dome. I get in the mood to invite a third, so I go to pick up Ichimaru. It turns out that he had already been hitting the sake pretty hard when he was on security duty, but he doesn't go down easy, so I bring him back with me to the roof…" His tone dropped and he scratched the back of his head, hoping that the other present character of the story would take it from there.

Grimmjow did not disappoint. "After that, Fox-Face gets to the point where he can't even remember our names and goes on about what a bastard 'Captain Aizen' is," he relayed with a bittersweet edge that made Starrk regret stopping his own recap. "And then this fucker," he pointed to the would-be guitarist, "goes and tells him that we feel the same way before I can shut his mouth. Apparently, Ichimaru had figured this out a while back, and he tells us that he's known what we were up to. That's all I was able to get out of him."

Harribel nodded once the retelling of the event had concluded. The whole thing was so plausibly absurd that she couldn't will herself to be angry. "I guess it can't be helped," she said quietly, folding her arms below her chest. "I understand why I wasn't told."

Relieved, Starrk arched his neck back and rested his head on the cushion of his armchair. "So what exactly did he say to you?" he asked the ceiling.

"He told me that he is interested in fighting with us when the time comes, or at least that is what he wants me to believe. That man is difficult to read. Either way, he can ruin us if he chooses to. We have no choice but to see what he will do when the war begins."

"Whenever or however that is," Starrk amended in exasperation, unnerved by this new vice that was closing in around his pack.

A thick silence engulfed the parlor until Grimmjow cursed and rose from his seat.

Walking over to the coffee table centered around the furniture arrangement in which the group sat, he knocked out the ash in his pipe and repacked it with a sum of shredded leaves obtained from a small cedar box. He then sidled up to the closest window and opened the metal shutters, allowing himself to look out into the raging thunderstorm.

"Garganta should be able work again in a week at the least, two at the most," he said after a pregnant moment, letting a single thick drop of liquid reiatsu fall into the silver bowl of his pipe. "But Aizen won't be able to mobilize as soon as the rainy season ends. The army will be disorganized, and they'll be dealin' with post-lockdown procedures." Grimmjow was smirking now, not bothering to close the shutters before sitting back down and holding the unlit tobacco out to Sun-Sun expectantly.

Eager to fulfill her lover's request, the serpentine Fraccion leaned affectionately against his chest and gathered a concentrated amount of cero energy at the tip of her finger over the outstretched substance. Immediately, she flinched and let out a startled shriek when the rainwater mixed in with the tobacco reacted to her spiritual energy and combusted into a vibrant multicolored flame.

Beside her, Grimmjow cackled a short laugh much to her embarrassment and brought the pipe to his lips. "I'm thinkin' that Soul Society isn't going to waste such a golden opportunity," he mused aloud, exhaling smoke and fire as he spoke.

"Invasion?" Harribel pondered, mulling over the prospect.

"Yeah," Grimmjow replied gruffly. "If the Shinigami have a single brain in the lot of them, then they'll find a way in here before the sand can dry and try to take us by surprise. But while that's good for us and all, Ichimaru's going to have a hard time getting away from Aizen when the fighting starts. Well, whatever happens to him won't affect us. We can make it without him."

"He seemed to believe that as well," Harribel said smoothly. "We should escape during the confusion."

"Do what you want." The Primera reached along the wall next to his seat and grasped Pantera loosely. "I'm staying for Aizen. I only need the Shinigami to make it so I can face him one-on-one."

Harribel found herself frowning again at her friend's resolve. "I don't know how strong you have become nor why Ichimaru has so much faith in your abilities, but…can you actually stand against him by yourself?" In response, a sword was tossed into her hands, and the woman eyed it strangely. "I don't understand." Even as she said that, she was beginning to comprehend what Grimmjow had meant by letting her touch his weapon.

Past its sheathe, she could instantly tell that it was out of the ordinary by the energy it emitted. From the hilt, there were two distinctly different currents of reiatsu, one like the old Sexta Espada and the other like the new, separated by the blade of the Zanpakuto until they were warped and eventually combined at the tip of the edge. This was no natural sword. Something had been done to it to make contain dual sources of power

Now that she thought about it, he had mentioned this on his last night as an Adjuchas, hadn't he? Somehow, he had managed to acquire two wells of strength.

The blonde conceded and returned Pantera to his owner. There was no longer a shred of doubt in her mind. At least physically, Grimmjow outclassed Aizen.

Finally, they stood on even ground after a century spent climbing.

An amicable sense of relief subtly overtook her as pairs of long golden lashes gently came together. "Now we wait for the time to strike?" Harribel asked, untensing the musculature of her neck and letting her head roll serenely backwards, dispelling the worry that had previously occupied her thoughts.

"Right," Grimmjow affirmed, making his way to the apartments' exit with Sun-Sun right behind him. "So, drink up, have a woman, I don't care what you do as long as you're ready to act when I need you." He gave Harribel a lopsided grin, unaware that a thin smile had beaten him to the punch underneath the fabric shrouding her mask fragment.

"And where are you going?"

"Around."

"Certainly you realize that 'around' encompasses a rather large area," the dark-skinned soldier retorted blandly. "While I have the utmost confidence in your capability to defend yourself, I'm concerned for the safety of my Fraccion. There are…certain people that you have offended who might want to harm her for being associated with you," she added gravely, changing focus to her subordinate who didn't appear the least bit upset towards the possibility of being a target. "I assume that you will be in his company wherever he decides to go."

"I will, Harribel-sama."

"Please do, and if you can, refrain from telling your sisters what we have talked about here. It would create unnecessary stress."

With that, the two were out the door and on their way to whichever destination the blue-haired Espada had chosen. Side by side, they walked in an oddly companionable calm.

"I hope Baraggan does try to pull something on you," Grimmjow muttered abruptly, his boots forming an irregular rhythm with Sun-Sun's shorter footfalls as they progressed down a maze of stairways and empty corridors. "And why the hell are you followin' me anyway?" In spite of having said that, he honestly didn't resent her accompaniment. If he had wanted solitude, then he would have ditched her the moment he had set foot out of the range of guitar notes and the smell of scented candles. It was just in his interest to test her every so often for sport if nothing else.

"Am I actually following you if I already know where we're headed?" Sun-Sun countered sweetly, obscuring her mouth with her sleeve. "Besides, you're not the slightest bit annoyed by me yet."

Her escort chuckled and continued on, increasing his walking speed to force her to nearly jog to match his pace. He was impressed. She had been able to diffuse his question with an indirect response and make it so that he couldn't follow up with a related statement.

Smart girl. She passed for now. "You up for a spar?" he inquired casually, abandoning the challenge to step up his rhetoric. That was better off saved for Aizen or Ulquiorra.

"I'm masochistic, not suicidal," Sun-Sun giggled, arriving at the entrance to the Primera's own quarters. "Although I'm sure that we can come up with other ways to test out that new body of yours."

"Suit yourself. You'll probably die," Grimmjow said with a shrug, pushing open the door and languidly heading into the main living area. The cleaning crew had come, that much he could tell just by the rearranged furniture and discernable lack of Loly and Menoly's remains. Satisfied in that aspect, he sniffed the air with several short inhalations in quick succession and scrunched up his nose distastefully when he detected that something was off. There was a lingering stench permeating the air.

Someone had stayed behind and taken advantage of his absence to freely roam around his territory.

An irritated noise escaped his throat, later joined by the sound of cracking knuckles. "Do you know whose scent this is?" Sun-Sun answered a silent negative and Grimmjow let out a low snarl as he extended his pesquisa into the seemingly tranquil surroundings, quickly identifying two reiatsu signatures, a familiar and a foreigner, their energies clumped into close proximity.

"It's Mila-Rose, isn't it?"

Not one to waste time with words, Grimmjow departed the sitting room and stormed into what had once been one of his Fraccion's bedchambers. What awaited him inside was enough to have him on the brink of blowing the place to oblivion.

"Get out."

Mila-Rose stared back at him in a relaxed state of incredulity despite the serious risk to her well-being for doing so. "What? I did what you asked me to do," she said sedately, recoiling sharply when her superior appeared by her bedside and ripped away the sheet that had been preserving the modesty of what lay beneath it. It was another disrobed Arrancar female huddled up in fear next to the Amazoness.

"I told you to keep an eye on the girl. What the hell is this?" Grimmjow jabbed his index finger straight down into the terrified woman's ribcage, causing her to break into a string of apologies before a rough hand clasped over her mouth and tossed her to the floor where she impacted with a solid thud.

Jarred by the sudden shock of hitting the hard marble, she couldn't right herself in time to prevent a heavy foot from falling on her chest and pinning her down so that eyes of frozen acid could bore unobstructed into her own. "If you were born a man, you'd be dead by now. But because I have a soft spot for women, or maybe since you're so weak, I'm not as insulted as I should be," a brusque voice hissed into her ear, barely audible from being dulled by the painful fog swirling around her cranium. "I'm going to let you go now, and if you ain't out the door in five seconds, I'm going to eat you raw." The foot was lifted and the nameless servant ran frightfully for the way out until that same demonic voice returned and made her shivering body freeze.

"Hey." She turned and was torn between Mila-Rose's quiet pleadings to escape and the overriding authority of Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.

"Thanks for takin' care of the mess."

Dumbfounded by the gratitude, she was at a momentary loss for what to do. Should she say something?

"Clock's still tickin', kid."

Grimmjow watched the handmaiden clamor away past the threshold and shoved his hands pockets when her reiatsu left his floor of the residential tower, snickering to himself all the while.

"You're an asshole, you know that?" Mila-Rose huffed, making no effort to recover her clothes as she glared halfheartedly at the man before her.

"And you're a bitch who goes out of her way to piss me off," Grimmjow fired back. "If you find a squeeze, then do her on your own time, and take her to _your_ territory, not mine. I'll kill the next one."

"Oh, I'm sure you will," came the dry reprisal. The Cuarta's subordinate folded her arms to augment the totality of her indifference at Grimmjow's intrusion into ridicule, nonplussed by his threat and thankful that nuances of Sun-Sun's argumentative pomp had rubbed off on her. Though, perhaps that wasn't something to celebrate when confronted by destruction incarnate, or maybe part of her enjoyed the danger as much as her sisters did even if his gender didn't particularly attract her.

Grimmjow locked gazes with her, momentarily amused by her feigned ignorance towards the hints he was dropping. However, games aside, he had a charge to look after.

"Where's the human? Tell me that you at least know that much."

"She said she was going outside right when you left," Mila-Rose relayed simply. No immediate acknowledgement came, and she awkwardly looked away then back to the Espada, becoming tense when the combination of his rekindled anger and the gravity of what she had just said struck her like a hammer. "I didn't think it would be a problem. I was tired, and I wanted her to leave me alone," she defended frantically, jolting out of the bed and securing her garments as she apologized. "I'll go get her for you."

"I don't think so."

What felt like the force of an entire ocean crashed down on the woman's head, rendering her immobile while the flames of the many low-burning reishi lamps scattered about the room ignited into a rainbow of variable blazes. Soon, she was pressed to the floor, suffocating on power-induced terror at the mercy of the Primera towering over her. "I was fine with ya having fun in here, but that was because I trusted you to do what I fucking told you to! Now get out'ta here, and go thank Tia that you're still alive."

The ocean lifted and Mila-Rose scrambled to her feet, head hung and pale from fear transmitted through the overbearing spiritual pressure. No pleasantries were to be had anymore. She had been reminded of her rank. "It won't happen again, Grimmjow-sama."

"God damn right it won't, youngblood. Do you…" He bit his tongue, wary of the newly-installed weatherproof bugs. There was no telling how many invisible ears littered his walls. "Aizen doesn't need any more reasons to have me executed," he continued through gritted teeth, enduring the physical difficulty that speaking such words gave him. Unfortunately, the knife in his pride was twisted when Mila-Rose hesitated in the doorway, confused by the faux concern.

"Woman, I will throw you out in pieces if you don't beat it," Grimmjow warned dangerously.

A punch of sonido resounded off the walls subsequent his admonition, leaving him alone on the bed. This whole thing, dancing around Aizen's stage in an effort to please him before the final curtain fell, it gave him a headache. Mila-Rose had nothing to do with it; she had just served as a tangible target for the meantime. She was in his pack, and that entitled her to some measure of leniency at least…didn't it? Too little, too late, he figured. What use was there for tracking her down and beating respect into her?

All he could do was tell himself that it was almost over. One final push, and there would be no more putting up with anything like babysitting a human or pretending to bow to a man that made his blood boil. Gently, he massaged his temples and backtracked to the living room where Sun-Sun was there to offer all she could like she always had. It never really helped, but it got his mind on less aggravating tracks.

"Please forgive her. She's always been uncultured."

"I let her go," Grimmjow mumbled. "That's more than forgiveness. She thought that because things were starting to go well for me that she could do whatever she wanted. Kid's too young to know her place in this world."

Sun-Sun nodded knowingly and approached her lover with a refined grace that made it appear as if her feet were always some indescribably small distance above the floor, unrestrained by friction. Upon reaching him, she wrapped her arms around his waist in a loose embrace and nuzzled her cheek into the crook of his neck. "It isn't like you to be so upset about a little thing like this," she whispered airily, fully aware that Grimmjow was only absentmindedly paying attention, fixated on some unseen problem. "Let Harribel-sama take care of it. You need to relax. You haven't had any rest for the last few days."

"There's something I need to do."

"I know, I'll wait." The slender Fraccion got to her toes and pressed a chaste kiss against the elder hybrid's lips. "I checked around for you. She's alive and outside, but you should hurry to her. And by the time you get back, I'll have a bath ready for you." Sun-Sun parted with a thin smile visible on her respectfully inclined features and motioned to carry out her self-assigned labor.

"Sun-Sun."

"Hm?"

"You're a good servant."

She slowed her pace but didn't stop, regarding Grimmjow with a cold politeness from over her shoulder. "I do what I can to make things easier for you. That's what you're supposed to do for the person you love."

There was no waiting for any reply. The sun would sooner rise in Hueco Mundo than for him to return a semblance of her feelings, and so Sun-Sun left.

Grimmjow watched her retreating form disappear behind the entrance into his chamber and opted to waste no time dwelling on things he could never in million years come to understand. Besides, he was in a rush. Shifting focus to the task at hand, he swiftly blew past the elaborate set of double doors that led out onto the veranda and came across a sight that made his receding sense of territoriality spike back up in an instant.

"Oh? You're back."

Orihime sat with her back to the stone barrier at the edge of the balcony, her face framed by lengths of auburn hair that had been plastered to her skin by the incessant rain that fell like gelatinous, electric bullets from the phosphorescent clouds above. Grimmjow fixed her with an even stare, clenching his fingers tight as a flash of lightning arced overhead through the rancorous heavens, reflected by a hundred glossy, savage eyes. She didn't do so much as bat an eyelash.

Thunder cracked soon after, eliciting a chorus of animalistic grunts and howls, and yet she didn't even flinch. She just sat there, her expression a blank porcelain mask while her outstretched hand caressed the muzzle of one of many feral Hollows sharing the mezzanine with her.

"What do you think you're doing?" the Vasto Lorde Arrancar growled over the storm, padding over to the redhead. Next to her, the beast that she had been touching bowed its head submissively at his arrival and stalked cautiously backwards. "Answer me, woman! You tryin' to get yourself killed?"

Orihime looked up at him, her chocolate orbs carrying the slightest hint of puzzlement over their noticeable detachment. "It's okay. They've been keeping me company for hours. I don't think that they would wait that long to attack me."

Grimmjow ran the palm of his hand over his face and slid down the wall, settling in close to her. "Idiot, they probably picked up my reiatsu on you and figured that they could use you to bait me. That's the only thing I can think of that would have them standing together like this without fighting during the rainy season," he chastised, point proven when a gaunt, bird-like Hollow lifted from its perch further down along the railing and boldly aimed its beak at his throat. "See," he said, snatching the bird out of the air mid-flight and vaporizing it with a concentrated dose of his ambient spiritual power. "When they get like this, they don't have any sense of self-preservation."

"Not all of them were like that though. I could tell what they were feeling," Orihime said softly, scanning the carnage that now surrounded her with remorse. In the blink of an eye, Grimmjow had slaughtered the entire assembly. "I've always been able to tell how people are on the inside."

"You need help. You're not right in the head."

The girl's face fell. She had hoped that he would be interested in her ability. "Maybe I'm not," she mumbled. Ever since the incident earlier in the day with Loly and Menoly, she hadn't been herself. An indescribable clarity and freedom had overtaken her, numbing her body and mind to the suffering she should have been experiencing as a prisoner. Things were so much easier now that she had one leg out of the illusory haven that was her humanity.

Grimmjow cast her a sidelong glance. Orihime wasn't healthy. Her spirit had been reduced to a flame with no oxygen. Hueco Mundo, Las Noches, Aizen, they had gotten the best of her, changing her into a worn husk that was irreversibly damaged. He had tried, as a pastime, to see if she could remain intact through the isolation and the withdrawal from everything that she ever knew. But she wasn't strong enough, or maybe he had not put too much work into it.

"Do you want me to kill you?" he asked.

Orihime met his eyes and found that his offer was genuine. "No," she said sternly, repulsed by the very thought of relinquishing her life no matter how bleak its future was beginning to look. "I won't give up, not yet. Being with you has changed me, Grimmjow. Before I met you, I was weak, and now…now I'm different. I feel like I can start to do things by myself, that I don't need you or my friends to watch over me."

"You were a mess this morning," Grimmjow scoffed, grimacing at the sensation of his canines lengthening into fangs - an effect of prolonged exposure to the rain. "Nothing has changed. You're a human who hates death trapped in a monster's world where death is everywhere. Hell, you were going to puke just 'cause you cut up that slut earlier." Who was she trying to fool? She had practically broken down once he had come in and finished off Loly and Menoly. No one like that could hope to share his worldview.

A low rumble of thunder sounded on the horizon.

"You're wrong," Orihime refuted meekly. "I wanted them to leave me alone, and there was actually a moment when I wanted to hurt them. That's why I was sick, but now I'm better!" she exclaimed pleadingly. "I've done some thinking, and I've accepted that that's the way I need to be in order to survive in this place. I need to become like you. Can you tell me how?"

"You have to stop being yourself. You have to throw away everything."

"You threw it all away?" Her tone conveyed amazement.

Suddenly, the atmosphere around him morphed into a dismal smog of discontent. "If you really want to know, it was taken from me."

"By who? Aizen-san?"

"Hell no, I'm over three times that bastard's age!" Grimmjow asserted, startling Orihime with the volume of his voice. "Anyway, it's not important. You can't be like me, so don't bother trying. I'm a demon and my strength is beyond strength. In these thousand years spent devouring souls, I've ended a million lives, and I don't lose any sleep over a single fucking one of them. Women, men, children, I kill them all without feeling a damn thing, and I strive to make myself able to kill more and more. There's nothing in my mind to hold me back from destroying everything I see, and that's where my power comes from. Not you or anyone else can achieve what I have because they have restraints, and yours is that you see what I do as evil."

Orihime was awestruck by his passion, but nevertheless, she wouldn't let him blow her off completely. "I never thought that you were evil. You told me before that you didn't know the difference between good and bad. I don't think anyone like that can be called evil. And you've done so much for me. You talked to me when I was lonely, you taught me amazing things, and you promised to help me leave this place. I don't know if you were using me, and I don't care. You made it easier for me to keep going." Tentatively, she extended her arm and swept her fingers over the ivory of his mask fragment, observing his glowing Hollowfied eyes for the first time. "You're not a demon or a monster. You are you and nothing else."

Grimmjow's countenance went through several alterations during her declamation, finally subsiding into a scowl when she was done. "How can you believe that? Humans are supposed to fear things like me."

"We are," she agreed. "But there was a time when I looked for good in everything, and during that time, my brother turned into a Hollow just like you. I knew then that bad things happen to good people, and I think that you were a good person when you were alive."

A solemn, frigid wind blew through the two as Orihime leaned over and planted a small kiss on the exterior set of jaws adorning the side of Grimmjow's face. "I should go in. The weather is making me feel strange."

"You don't need my permission. Do what you want."

"Aren't you coming too?"

"Later. If you get bored, then go talk to Tia. She'd be able to tolerate that nonsense you keep spouting."

There was a troubled hesitance, and then Grimmjow was alone in the rain and the darkness.

* * *

_All done._

Sun-Sun sighed whimsically, and turned off the bath faucet. With her free hand, she began simultaneously stowing away the small glass decanters of bathing salts and oils.

Everything had been prepared to suit Grimmjow's tastes. No matter how much he denied being materialistic or harboring general preferences for these sorts of things, she knew what he liked best based on the subtle variations of his reactions to her trials and errors.

Dim the lights, and mind that the water temperature should be kept the same as the room so that it is difficult to distinguish which parts of the body are submerged and which aren't. If things are to be added to the bath, then they should be either odorless or faintly pleasing – anything with too intense of a scent would irritate his nose. It was a simple formula, but she had perfected it to the point where he tended to actually enjoy the times when he had nothing better to do than lay around with her in his rather spacious, cauldron of a tub.

She often wished that those brief occasions could last forever, that he could descend onto her level and stay there. Admittedly, it was selfish. He was destined to walk on his higher path just as she had to be stuck down below on hers, looking up from his shadow, receiving only the pleasure gained from serving him. When she had fallen in love with him, she knew that their fate wasn't shared. She was a commoner, and he had been chosen to become something that she couldn't fully comprehend.

But for now, they were allowed to meet at a crossroads.

Removing Pantera from his sash, Grimmjow stepped off of marble flooring and onto cold tile. He proceeded to disrobe wordlessly, tossing his uniform aside in an unceremonious heap when he was done. Then, with lithe movements akin to a feline, he slipped into the bath and rolled his neck.

"How is she?"

"Not good."

Sun-Sun heaved a somber breath and snuggled in close to Grimmjow, sending the sounds of displaced water echoing off the walls. "I guess I should have expected her to turn out that way. It's a shame. She's such a pretty girl."

"What's she to you?" Grimmjow inquired, constricting his arm around her ribcage and, much to her surprise, pulling her tighter against his larger form.

"Interesting. That's all. I can't recall ever meeting any humans before," Sun-Sun cooed, tracing circles over the Espada's scarless musculature with her index finger.

Several minutes passed in an affectionate silence, broken only when the woman sat up to light a modest arrangement of candles around the basin.

"Hey," the Primera grunted, nipping at the shell of her ear as he spoke. "Can I ask ya something?"

"Of course."

"If…" He curled up the corner of his mouth in a sneer. He had hit a snag in trying to phrase his question, something unusual for a man of his blunt tendencies during conversation. "How would you think of me if you didn't love me?"

Sun-Sun made a displeased rumble in the bottom of her throat. "You haven't been eating properly again."

"Just answer the damn question."

She paused, thoughtful. "Well, I would still think of you as strong and intelligent. I would know that you're a lot of fun when you're in a good mood and downright frightening when you're not." Grimmjow made to say that she had mistaken what he was going for, but she pressed on. "I would think that you see the world as it truly is, that you fight evil with evil because you've realized that good can't win. You do what is necessary to protect yourself and sometimes, protect us, your pack. You're not selfish or corrupted; you're logical, and that has made you the way you are."

Grimmjow pondered her response, burnt orange candlelight flickering across his jagged features. Oddly enough, it held the same essence as what Orihime believed him to be. "By normal standards, most would tell me that I'm corrupted. I enjoy killing things. I enjoy destruction. And I enjoy chaos."

"You would have to, wouldn't you?" Sun-Sun brought herself to his height, straddling his waist and looking him dead in the eyes. "Otherwise, you would have lost your sanity." Her lips met his, and he grabbed a fistful of her evergreen hair.

"You're past the labels of good and evil," she continued, easing off of his body and taking up a seiza position in front of him. "So, don't come to me like this again. It's not fitting for the man I follow. Live according to your own terms in the present like you always have, and stop counting the hours and the centuries gone by." Her visage turned mischievous. "Instead, how about you count how long I can hold my breath?"

No later than she had uttered her challenge, the Fraccion's head bobbed underwater and glistening fangs were revealed in a wicked smirk.

* * *

White. Everything she saw was white. The absence of color, an allegory of purity and clarity. Eclipse the light, and it becomes black. Introduce the slightest shade, and it turns to gray. Up until now, Inoue Orihime had lived a generous sum of years in a black and white existence. Go to school, make friends, indulge in periodical entertainment, aim to succeed in the future. Forsake parents, cry for your brother, actualize your inadequacy. All of these things were separated by a line so discernable that it seemed corporeal, but now…now everything had blurred to gray.

Disorder had given way to uncertainty, yet she remained undaunted. Thanks to Grimmjow, she was determined to see the pandemonium through until the end no matter where it led her.

What she felt couldn't be defined as hope. It was more like an investment. In her opinion, there wasn't anything much to hope for. She knew her friends would come for her, and she knew that she had a way out of Hueco Mundo even without them.

With a knuckle of her thumb, Orihime propped up her head and moved her legs beneath the sheets of her bed in an attempt to find the warmest place to rest.

She could hope to survive, perhaps. No. The more she thought about it, the more she figured that particular wish didn't belong in Hueco Mundo. And it was at this junction that taking Grimmjow's advice and consulting Harribel struck her as a more welcome alternative to lying alone in her uncomfortably sizable room, mulling over her vaguely omnipresent sense of vital ambiguity.

At the moment, the Cuarta actually seemed like a better choice than Grimmjow when it came down to discussing what she was feeling. After all, Harribel had displayed that she understood a great deal about humans and their emotions.

That settled it then. Mind made up, Orihime climbed out from under the covers and went off in search of Grimmjow. Hopefully, he had some business with the residents of the upper floor and she wouldn't have to tread off by herself. Fooling him that she had forgotten how to get there was out of the question. Not only was she a poor liar, but he seemed like the kind of person who was experienced enough to be able to call a bluff from even someone like Aizen.

Aizen. Images of the former Shinigami Captain invaded her mindscape and caused a chill to run down her spine. The last she had seen of him was when she had first been brought to Las Noches as a captive. He had stated that he held an interest in her powers although little had convinced her that she was anything more than a hostage. Grimmjow on the other hand, he valued her to some extent. Benign or not, she didn't care. Working with him had given her insight and an impression of self-worth.

When this was all over, she owed him thanks.

…Though for now, she couldn't even find where he was.

Orihime peered through the glass of the balcony's doors a second time to be sure, waiting for a bolt of lightning to illuminate the area. Soon enough, there was a flash, and unsurprisingly, Grimmjow was shown to be elsewhere. He never did appear to stay in one place for too long.

With that possibility exhausted, the girl was at a loss. The Primera's quarters were larger than her entire apartment complex back in the Living World.

A frustrated huff blew away layered tresses of rust-orange hair. What else was there? He wasn't lazing around in the foyer, and he she seriously doubted that he would be in the kitchen. Beyond that, she didn't know of any other locations in his territory except for his bedchamber.

Her pout grew taut at the inevitable suggestion of disobeying his order to stay away from his room.

_Just knocking should be okay._

Steadily, she shuffled over to the entryway and gently rapped the back of her hand on the heavy oak. She waited patiently for a full minute, and no sound came from within. "Grimmjow?" she called out sheepishly. Again, no answer.

She looked at the knob and bit her lip.

_I really shouldn't._

Orihime took a deep breath, and despite her inward voice of reason, she opened the door and headed in.

The room itself was sparsely furnished and overall what she had anticipated. Books here and there, a chair, a table on which a pipe and a cedar box had been placed, and a bed with a single untucked sheet that was regretfully devoid of an occupant.

Defeated, she turned to go when a sudden garbled noise sent her leaping off the floor and into a fit of apologies. However, upon regaining her wits, she discovered that she was trying to mitigate with nothing more than antique armoire. So, what had she heard? She stood stock still, and it came again, louder, from behind another door near the aforementioned piece of furniture. Apprehension gripped her, and she couldn't help but laugh at herself. To someone who had just been surrounded by a legion of feral Hollows without feeling a quantum of fear, having anxiety now seemed irrational if not hypocritical.

Steeling herself, she moved her ear to the door, and the sound became clear though no easier to identify. It was like something akin to what an injured animal might make during a struggle.

"Hello?"

Counting the passing heartbeats, she strained her spine to lean in and listen for any indication that whatever lay inside had heard her. Not a word. Minutes went by, and she reverted into an upright stance, her instincts berating her for what she was about to do.

The door inched open, its groaning hinges putting an end to the commotion within the chamber. Inside, past the narrow strip of lamplight streaming though, Orihime saw only unadulterated blackness. "Hello?" she repeated, pushing the gap wide enough to allow her to wander in.

Somewhere outside the sandstone walls of the palace, the storm made its presence known with a resounding boom that shook the structure of the entire tower.

Inadvertently, the door fell shut, abandoning her amongst total shadow.

Rendered blind, she ceased moving altogether and battled the urge to clamor for a way out. Her adrenaline flowed freely, and her chest madly thumped. In a way, the obscurity was alluring, almost alive in its ability to cloud around her as she assembled everything that she could immediately perceive. Expanding outwards, her senses registered that the floor was smooth. Also, there was a constant dripping nearby. And alongside the source of the dripping, there existed a paltry glow that tore through the umbra.

Drawn to the light, Orihime approached its origin.

A ring of candles flickered listlessly. The flames danced to the slow cadence of the phantasmal dripping as she reached the arrangement, crouching down to its height. From there, she followed the trails of smoke upwards until her eyes riveted to the sight of two burning sapphires with rings of gold isolating matching islands of the purest blue she had ever known.

Grimmjow leered back at her, a hiss of steam gushing forth from the corners of his mouth. He retracted his teeth from the sensitive flesh of Sun-Sun's neck, blood spilling over his lips and striking the water below. Feebly, the lesser Arrancar protested his withdrawal, swiveling her glimmering forest green eyes to Orihime as well and capturing her in the center of slitted yellow pupils.

"Is there something you need, Orihime-chan?" The question was distorted, a ragged, wet utterance produced by a damaged throat that oozed crimson ichor.

Fear. For the first time in what had been an eternity, her body surged with a very real, very human fear of what she couldn't fathom. It was exhilarating. Her nerves were ablaze with both excitement and horror at the same time. So, this was it. This was Grimmjow at his core. Ignoring Sun-Sun's question, Orihime quaked in awe as the Primera Espada rose naked, bloodlusted, sustaining the only light in a sea of darkness. Then and there, she knew that none surpassed this man. He had truly acquired strength beyond strength, and it was _beautiful_.

"Quit gawking and answer the question," the feral demi-god commanded. "What do you want?"

Face flushed from witnessing a man disrobed for the first time, Orihime's functioning was effectively shot. Every word she sought to speak fizzled out on the tip of her tongue at the sight of this violent totem resembling everything she had ever loathed and dreaded and secretly yearned to acquire.

"I…" she stammered, wincing at the sound Sun-Sun made as she re-hinged her jaw. "I wanted to go see Harribel-san."

"Then go see her. You remember the way, don't ya?"

Silence.

"What?" Grimmjow snorted. "I ain't in the mood to hold your hand, so either give it up, or do something yourself for once."

Orihime's heart dropped. She had gotten what she expected. Although at the same time, hearing him say it gave her a small spark of resolve. "You're right. I'll go," the redhead conceded. "I'm sorry for coming in." Her stomach lurched from the scene in front of her, and her voice remained a little shaky. But somehow Orihime managed to navigate her way out of the bathroom and end up in the stark white labyrinth of hallways that lay past Grimmjow's domain.

She set out alone, depending on no one to guide her. Feet on autopilot, she traveled the exact route she had taken the day before when she had gone to transform the then-Sexta Espada into what he was now.

Had it only been one day since then, she wondered. The details of the events that had transpired were all still vivid, but it felt like a year had flown by. Maybe it just seemed so long because of her own transformation. Spin the clock back a week and tell her that she would envy and become attached to a cannibal that murdered on a whim. What would she have said? It was unbelievable, ridiculous even. Yet there she was, taking a stroll in a palace of monsters after coming into contact with so much death and debauchery.

By every right, she should have been irreparably traumatized from what she had seen only minutes ago. Why wasn't she scared at what she was changing into? Was this what Grimmjow had meant by throwing away everything? With each step forward, pieces of herself flaked off like dry snakeskin.

Orihime eyed the floor, moving her gaze from tile to tile as she neared the gigantic staircase that would lead her to Harribel's level. Briefly, she worried about how her friends would react to her new worldview. Did that matter? This was the only way to survive in her situation. Undoubtedly, she had made the right choice in going to Harribel for answers. It pained her to think that way about those she had left behind, and letting it out on someone who could sympathize was sure to lift her spirits. Of course, this was assuming that the Cuarta was willing to listen.

The distance to her destination had been shortened by her thoughts, and soon Orihime halted before the entrance to the stairway. But as she grasped the door handle, there was a flutter of reiatsu from behind. She spun about, presuming that Sun-Sun had tailed her after finishing up with Grimmjow. Unfortunately, that was not the case.

Down across the full stretch of the hall stood a lightly-built Arrancar male. He was feminine in appearance, bearing a saber-toothed skull above braided black hair. Orihime couldn't recall ever seeing him or hearing of a man fitting his description from Grimmjow which meant that he wasn't a top-ranking soldier.

Regardless of his status, he put her on edge. No outside group shared this residential tower.

This wasn't good. Uneasy, the brown-eyed girl shoved the metal bulkhead open and quickly slammed it shut. She then threw the latch next to the door, barricading it with a thick strip of steel before turning.

Drowned out by the tempest blowing in through the windows of the stair chamber, the subsequent gasp was heard by none.

* * *

Grimmjow seethed in satisfaction as Sun-Sun grinded her hips against his. A series of throaty rattles followed when he raked what was comparable more to the claws of an animal than human finger nails down the woman's back. In return, she draped her arms over his shoulders and moved in to allow him to thrust into her at a more pleasurable angle. "I'm close," she panted, shuddering at the mixed sensations brought about by the rough hand that swabbed over the rivulets of blood snaking down her spine.

"Never any self-control," her partner grumbled, increasing his tempo to match her frenzied movements. "The least you cou-"

Both hybrids instantly stopped and snapped matching glares towards the invisible disturbance that dared to interrupt them. An interloping reiatsu was passing by unannounced.

"Recognize it?" Grimmjow asked, lifting Sun-Sun off of him and trudging through the bathwater to the border of the tub.

"It's familiar, but I can't put my finger on it," the Fraccion contemplated, hurrying to her superior while he swung one leg over the basin. "Just let it pass," she pleaded earnestly. "It's the first time in days that Apache-chan has let me have you to myself. I'm sure it's nothing, so please don't go."

"Shut up," Grimmjow ordered, rage evident in his words. He jumped into his hakama and tied them to his waist with the customary black sash. "You think I want to leave? Whoever that is, they're giving off killing intent. And you know damn well what that means I have to do. I'll be back as soon as I show this bastard his place." Sparing her a look that explicitly told her to stay put, he grabbed Pantera and ran out of his residence.

Barging through the exit, he landed in the center of the adjacent corridor and sniffed the air tentatively. Sun-Sun was right. The scent was distinctly familiar.

Grimmjow swapped his normal vision in favor of pesquisa and probed the general area. His target was moving, heading in the direction of four similarly powerful signatures that were positioned right in front of the turbulent interference that was the monsoon. He blinked to make certain and cut of his reconnaissance with a swear. How could he allow so many outsiders slip by? They must have taken a distant route.

"Everyone's tryin' to piss me off today," he groused, launching into a dead sprint that carried him down the hallway at blinding speeds. In seconds, he was upon his mark, leaping onto a wall and using it as a means to spring around the connecting corner in order to confront the intruder.

Said intruder did not appear to have the slightest notion that he was being stalked, a fact that was made apparent when he spun around just in time to have a foot collide with his face.

Findor Carias gritted his teeth in agony as the Espada rode his head into the floor, pressing his full weight down upon him while he slid across the passage. Eventually, the friction forced them to come to a stop, a short-lived breather for the blonde retainer.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing here!" Grimmjow snapped, pinning the other man with a thumb to his shattered nose. "You'd better tell me everything I want to know and more if you want to walk away from this."

A weak smile split Findor's lips, stained red by the fluids seeping into his mouth from the injury. "I have nothing to say to you, charlatan," he coughed. "You're conceited to believe that one botched contest places you higher than Baraggan-sama. That strength of yours is nothing compared to His Majesty's."

Grimmjow raised his brows skeptically in return. "How stupid are you, youngblood? You really must not want to walk anymore," he said in mock disbelief, brutally punishing the Tercera's servant by crushing his knees into twin piles of gore with a single devastating blow. "Next one's gonna cost you your life," the Vasto Lorde threatened over the tortured screams that superseded Findor's arrogant defiance. "I'll ask you again. What are you doing here? Is Luisenbarn with you?"

Beads of cold sweat accumulated on Carias' body, an involuntary counteraction to the burning pain searing what was left of his legs. He was breathing heavily both in decisiveness and terror. What should he do? A tense moment went by and he knew. His grave had already been dug the instant he had been detected. There was no choice. "Fuck you!" the Fraccion howled, spitting a glob of crimson saliva that sailed harmlessly to the left of the Primera's chin.

"Wrong answer." Remorselessly, Grimmjow pressed his knee against Findor's solar plexus to restrain him. He then channeled a concentrated amount of reiatsu into his hand and ripped the subjugated Arrancar's chest open, infusing the wound with his corrosive spiritual power.

Beneath him, the lower-ranking officer writhed and shrieked as he was being dissolved from the inside out.

"Next time you want to be stubborn, do it at your own expense," Grimmjow said spitefully, standing up and refusing a further gesture to the rapidly diminishing smear of a corpse. Nothing had been gained from interrogating him except for a motive. Baraggan was out for him, that much he knew. And judging by the perimeter his adherents had established, he was stationed somewhere near the grand staircase that linked his floor to Harribel's.

Harribel's…

_Shit!_

Balling his hands into fists, Grimmjow disappeared in a punch of sonido and reappeared in the midst of the former God-King's four remaining subordinates. Unsurprisingly, they were between him and the stairwell. Ants along the path of a dragon.

"By edict of His Eminence, you cannot pass," they bellowed in unison, visibly shaken and for due cause. The bloodied, feral, half-naked demon before them looked positively indignant by their obstruction.

_**Let me out. I'll take care of them.**_

Grimmjow cast his stare downwards to the sword that hung next to his thigh. "Fine," he muttered, bringing his attention back up to the sentry quartet. "Is that right? The ruler of nothing more than four dead motherfuckers is tellin' me, the King, that I can't get in there?" Slowly, he unsheathed his sword and watched his oblivious opposition do the same. Then, without warning, he tossed his weapon at the guards.

"Slaughter them, Pantera!"

The blade pulsed an ethereal blue and vanished. In its place, a ghastly white panther burst forth mid-flight from the empty air where the sword once occupied, savagely mauling the nearest Fraccion in a pale blur.

First blood was his, but now the rest were no longer in shock and quickly surrounding the sentient manifestation of raw power. At this, the sword spirit chuckled darkly. A bunch of children thought that they stood a chance? Oh how he would enjoy proving them wrong.

Pantera retracted his claws from the torn flesh under his paws, bounding off from the carcass with predatory grace. "Which of you fledglings is next?" he challenged, his gravely tone promising more carnage to come.

On the sidelines, Grimmjow nodded in approval and seized the opening provided by his Zanpakuto. He advanced unimpeded to the stairway's containment bulkhead. There, he gave a push and swore. Someone had locked it from the inside, and the list of suspects was narrow. Baraggan had come, and by the looks of things, he hadn't had the nerve to climb up to Harribel's floor. Otherwise, he would have felt a fight between the two of them with or without the rainy season. That in mind, she most likely wasn't even aware of the situation due to the sensory interference which meant that Orihime was on her own.

Why her though? He didn't get it. The Tercera couldn't pin her murder on him. Aizen wouldn't buy it. Security would show that he had deliberately set a trap. There was no vengeance to be reaped from her unless…

Grimmjow upturned his lips in a vicious sneer. Her assistance with his ascension to the pinnacle of evolution had been uncovered by the worst possible man in Las Noches. Unacceptable. Completely unacceptable. He had a debt to repay and he'd be damned if an overthrown megalomaniac was going to make him chase Orihime through reincarnation to get even.

* * *

Orihime covered her mouth and backed up against the wall, startled by the presence elderly Espada's presence in the center of the wide expanse that comprised the stair room.

Glowering back at her with his unscarred eye, Baraggan Luisenbarn shifted upright atop his ivory throne. "Come closer, Human. I have no desire to raise my voice when addressing you," he entreated gruffly over the rolling claps of thunder. "If you refuse, then I will strike you down where you stand."

Hesitantly, Orihime complied. No matter how unassuming the stocky, aged man may have seemed, she recognized him as the third most powerful Hollow in Hueco Mundo. And that meant escape was impossible.

"What do you want?"

Baraggan cocked his head curiously to the side. "Despite your appearance, you are a straightforward girl, aren't you? Perhaps _he_ has something to do with it," the fallen emperor contemplated darkly. "And you are in no position to demand anything from me. It is an aspect of your primitive culture to revere gods, is it not?"

By now, Orihime was having difficulty breathing. The air was heavy with her own dread and Baraggan's half-hidden wrath.

"You need not answer. The respect of another species unimportant to me." Baraggan's aura suddenly intensified as he locked lines of sight with the teenage healer, petrifying her with a precise transmission of his reiatsu into her nervous system. "What _is_ important to me, however, is your involvement with Grimmjow. I knew that if I lingered here, either you or one of his whores would come. Curse your fate for leading you to travel alone." He now ran his wrinkled fingers over the lining of his coat and pulled it aside, exposing a multitude of sickly black blotches staining his pinstriped undershirt. "Look at the humiliation I have suffered because of your treachery. The nature of the power you helped him to obtain is preventing me from healing my shame."

Orihime was brought to her knees by the pressure exerted from the irate Tercera. She couldn't move, couldn't think. Pain began lancing through her defenseless body, brought about by the crushing spiritual atmosphere. It took all the strength she could pull together just to speak. "I don't-"

"Do not talk out of turn," Baraggan said, rising from his cathedra. "You trifled with the laws of my world to make him into that thing! Haven't you any indication of what you've done? I ordered the purges of S-Class Hollows at the beginning of my reign for a reason, child. They are monsters. They are creatures that should not exist in nature. For Aizen to make him an Arrancar was an insult to our way of life, but for you to willingly aid in his evolution, that is inconceivable and absolutely unforgivable!"

"You're wrong."

"Am I?" the wounded monarch fumed, "How so?

Straining to raise her head, Orihime mustered the surge of anger burning in her chest into a glare copied straight from Grimmjow. "He isn't a monster!" she screamed, releasing the pent-up passion she had gained from adapting his axioms.

"Are you touched by dementia, Human?" Baraggan roared back, smashing the bone structure of his throne in a vulgar display of his growing vexation. "Given the chance, he would kill everyone in this palace, and you gave him the means to do so. His insanity will cause him to destroy until there is nothing left." While he spoke, he buried his hand into the rubble of his chair and drew back a great axe.

Eyes wide, Orihime swallowed the spike of fear churning her stomach as the weapon dragged across the floor, spitting up sparks and ceramic chunks along its path towards her.

"I do this for myself and to preserve one of the few surviving covenants of my race. No matter what you, his allies, or Aizen believe, that man cannot be allowed to live. I will deal with him after making you pay tenfold for the trouble you've caused me."

Baraggan raised his Zanpakuto high, reflecting the emanation of distant lightning.

"Consider this retribution for your grave error."

Orihime heard her Shun Shun Rikka cry out to her, begging her to summon them. It was no use. She was being strangled by Baraggan's reiatsu to the point of near-unconsciousness. She hit the floor, the weight of a god-king on top of her, suffocating her, dominating her, killing her. Then it was gone, replaced by a split second of excruciating agony and beyond that, a null void.

The weight lifted and a warm sensation spread across her back. She tried moving. Her legs didn't work, and her fingers only twitched when she strived to push herself up from the cold tile. Futile. She gave up and rolled her head such that her ear rested in an increasingly large puddle of unidentified liquid. Breathing was wet and laboring, a little easier once she parted her lips to drain the coppery sanguine gushing forth from her lungs.

An uncomfortable tension stretched midway down her spine before it abruptly ended, leaving her wondering what had become of her lower torso. She looked to the door, barely registering the noise that came from the other side. Her hearing was fading as was her vision. The door wasn't visible anymore, overtaken by patches of gray that became momentarily lighter whenever the storm discharged a flash of spirit particles.

Was this it?

Orihime was awash with an overpowering sense of drowsiness that permeated every last remaining bodily function that had yet to shut down. A gentle darkness lifted her, one akin to what she experienced inside Grimmjow's bath chamber. It carried her elsewhere, somewhere far away.

She didn't want to leave. Not yet. There were so many things she had to do, but it felt so welcoming and pleasant to drift over the euphoric median between this life and the next.

What about her friends? They would surely come for her. She saw their faces, cloudy and shimmering faintly as if projected onto a pool of murky water. One by one they came and went until Ichigo surfaced, his usual scowl in place below his trademark mop of orange hair. Tears streamed down Orihime's cheeks now as even the boy she loved was harshly swept away by the water's ripples. Choked rasps were caught in her throat at his departure, unable to push past stagnant blood.

Orbs of burnt umber glazed over into a milky white, rendering her blind.

What had she done to deserve this? It wasn't fair. Why was she so inadequate? Why had she been born so weak?

Amidst her laments, a new face emerged out of the blackness. Unyielding and solemn, he gazed upon her with a hint of pity evident above the obsidian markings lining his lower eyelids.

And then it all came back. Gravity, cognition, vision, hearing, everything returned to her. The pain was gone. Only the feeling of weightlessness stayed.

"I see."

Orihime awoke from her reverie and recoiled at the sight of Baraggan looming beside her.

"The storm has kept you from leaving this dimension." He was viewing the sky from one of the tower's windows.

She didn't know what that meant, and she didn't want to. Instead, she scrambled away from the Arrancar and made for the exit. Nothing made sense. Why wasn't she dead? How could she move? Whatever had happened, it gave her a second chance, and she was _not_ going to waste it. She wasn't ready to die.

"There's no escape. Not for you," the voice behind her boomed.

Baraggan closed the gap between himself and the fleeing girl with a controlled burst of sonido, snatching the loose fabric hanging from the back of her garment. Once ensnared, he readied another fatal strike and brought down his cleaver only to connect with a thick slab of metal. Bewildered, the usurped ruler shot his gaze to the door or rather lack thereof, tossing Orihime aside to prepare for a much more worthy opponent.

Returning his foot to the floor, Grimmjow meandered onto the base of the stairs and made a beeline to his ward. Roughly, he pulled her to her feet and positioned himself protectively in front of her. "Sorry," he stated bluntly, "I should've been here sooner."

"You came. That's all that matters," Orihime said with a relieved smile.

Grimmjow knitted his eyebrows together and turned to check if she was delirious. "If you say so. This means you'll have to wait a little longer for me to repay what I owe." Honestly, she was starting to compete with Szayel for the title of the strangest person he had ever known.

He sighed and rotated back to Baraggan who was exhibiting an uncharacteristic amount of patience. The two approached one another, and each regarded the other with an expression depicting the utmost resentment.

"You've got guts to pull something like this so soon after I beat you to the ground, old man. Do you have some sort of death wish, or do ya really think you still stand a chance against me?" Grimmjow asked.

Baraggan scoffed. "Underhanded tactics such as those you employed to defeat me earlier can hardly create a precedent for a real fight. Come at me. I will show you the penalty for mocking a god."

"There are no gods, only devils," Grimmjow exclaimed wickedly. "Try it, bastard. Try to release, and I'll break you without as much as my sword before you can call that thing's name." He tensed into a combat stance, spring-loaded and hungry for battle. "You're not good enough to win against a true king. Go ahead and let me show you why!"

_Do it. Get pissed._

"As you wish," Baraggan shouted, enraged by the Primera's taunting. "Rot-"

No sooner than the command left his mouth, Grimmjow had silenced him with a bone-crunching hook, sending him careening past the room's entrance and skidding through the outside corridor. Jarred by the megaton impact, he willed himself to remain conscious and dug his blade into the floor in an effort to reduce his momentum. He cursed inaudibly. Grimmjow was fast, faster than he had led him to believe during their first skirmish. To possess a speed greater than his when inside his time-distortion field was a monstrous achievement.

Eventually, he slowed to a stop and tried to call out his Resurreccion once more. No good. His jaw was slack and too damaged to set. Time would be required for it to heal back to a state where he could speak coherently, and ironically, he was rather short on time.

"You there."

Baraggan lurched upwards and looked back in the direction from which he had been thrown to spot a white panther that sported unique, jagged black stripes. It sat on its haunches, eying him lackadaisically while it gnawed on what he vaguely recognized as one of his Fraccion.

"You should leave if you know what's good for you," the jungle cat cautioned. "A low A-Class with a soulless weapon is no match for us."

"Who…what is this? How dare you murder my court and address me as inferior!" the Espada attempted to holler in return, gripping his axe and attacking the mysterious animal with a berserker rush.

Pantera dropped his meal and idly watched the man charge at him. From the doorway, his partner appeared next to him and cut the tie keeping him in his current form, causing him to revert back into a sword just as Baraggan put the sum of his dwindling hubris into one final swing. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he cleanly severed the Tercera's right arm.

His wielder really was a man for dramatic flair.

"Leave," Grimmjow commanded, kicking the relinquished Arrogante to its wailing master. "A weakling like you isn't worth my time. Let that stump be a reminder. If I so much as smell you when we're not in a meeting, then I swear I'll fuckin' kill you, got it?" he amended, turning his back to the retreating, once-proud emperor and impaling his separated appendage. The victorious demon waited until he was no longer in sight and brought his prize with him back to Orihime.

"Are you alright, kid?" He sidled up beside her and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

She didn't say anything. She only looked to the far end of the area in abject horror.

"Like I said, I'm sorry. Had I been thinking straight when you asked me to come with you, then things would be different," Grimmjow said blankly, taking his eyes off of the redhead's corpse and bringing them to her soul form. She was in shock, unable to register the end of her own mortality much less his apology. But still, he talked to her. "You understand now, don't you? Everything has to be taken from you to become what I am. It all has to be destroyed and then rebuilt stronger than before."

Grimmjow began briskly walking towards her mangled body. "I was like you a long time ago, innocent to everything that was happening around me, living pathetically as you are now in a world meant for thieves and murderers. I know how it feels to be helpless and weak, to be a human," he empathized, removing the hairpins from Orihime's lifeless form and pocketing them. "Do you want my strength?"

Orihime was on the ground, having fainted from the trauma of staring directly into the glossy white orbs belonging to the bifurcated corpse she only until now inhabited since birth.

"You told me earlier that you wanted my kind of power. Well, you could never reach my level, but if power is what you want, then I can give you a push in the right direction," Grimmjow offered, lifting the unconscious girl into his arms bridal-style and sitting against the wall where he positioned her horizontally on his lap. "Just don't get soft on me, or you'll end up like this again. Ask Nelliel if you think I'm lying."

His hand found her chest and toyed with the short chain protruding from her sternum, twirling it in small circles.

"To repay you for giving me my life back, I'll give you a reason to live in death. I'll make it so that your heart doesn't even remember the pains of frailty and deficiency. Come with me, woman. Let me show you what it's like to live in my world."

The chain was given a sharp tug, unfastening with relative ease.

"This is my service to you. You're on your own from here on out."

_Welcome to the abyss._

* * *

**This chapter is set to the song 'Not Enough' by Lacuna Coil.**

**Author's Note:**

Someone's going to send me hate mail.

Sorry for the delay, kiddos. I've been having some serious medical issues on top of schoolwork. Drop me a review to make me feel better.

Anyway, this chapter was probably the most difficult one to write so far. I've been constantly sick and stressed so I think it may have suffered. I'm sorry if the writing wasn't up to par. Nevertheless, I had fun doing it. You can bet that things will be a lot different from now on.

Kudos to anyone who gets the reference 'strength beyond strength'.


	6. The Egg, the Snake, and the Void

Hello, readers.

Before you start on this three-month overdue chapter, I'd like to give myself a chance to explain the delay. For those who don't really care to hear someone else's problems, go ahead and move past the text break.

Anyway, as I may or may not have mentioned before, I have what's known as an Arteriovenous Malformation (AVM for short). Basically, it's a giant knot of arteries in my brain. Symptoms vary, but mine happen to be rather severe. They've been progressing to the point where I have violent seizures and have difficulty speaking amongst other things. Nevertheless, it's not all that bad. Don't get my hopes up by sending me a review that only says get well soon.

So, the delay is a product of exploring treatment options in addition to college and my own social life. I'm scheduled for neurosurgery sometime in late February – forgot the date. Until then, I'll try hard to provide regular updates.

On a side note, I went back and edited the hell out of this fic. I still need a beta though, so message me if you're interested. I want someone who knows more about grammar and punctuation than I do. I also went and redid Loly and Menoly's deaths back in chapter four. The scene is quite a bit more drawn out now.

Enjoy.

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Burdened by the double sets of expectations placed upon him from being both an Espada and Aizen's top R&D specialist, Szayel-Aporro Granz had never once sought to expand his sphere of influence beyond his work. His laboratory was his bubble, his Eden. Everything inside was meticulously maintained with absolutely no exceptions for anything but his exact specifications. This practice ranged from the finely detailed taxonomical nomenclature used to organize his research materials to the heavily-enforced policy of cleanliness and professionalism enacted upon his Fraccion.

Failure to meet these standards resulted in swift and precise discipline. No errors were tolerated, and no infractions went unpunished by the harshest of penalties. Indeed, his was a world of order, the ideal pathway to discovery molded from machinery and pure ingenuity encased within meters of steel-reinforced masonry.

So, imagine his surprise when he was jolted away from writing his daily invoice at the oddest of nocturnal hours by the telltale sound of breaking glass.

"Who's there!" the startled scientist shouted, scrambling out of his chair and racing to the source of the disturbance. "Nnoitra, it's after lights out! I told you never to–" He rounded a corner leading to an antechamber that functioned as a storage unit for hazardous chemicals and stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening at the sight of a large gothic number one.

With its back to the Octava, a sopping wet vortex of spiritual power stood in the center of the narrow chamber, balancing a rather strange object on one knee while he fought to get a better grip. Unfortunately for him, the unwieldy bulk had become impossibly slick from the rain and fell to the floor once more.

"Fuck," Grimmjow snarled, stomping a crater into the ground as the thing rolled across the tiles and knocked over yet another shelf of corked flasks. Irate, twin sapphires shot over his shoulder towards the man behind him, instilling in him an otherworldly chill. "What are you standin' around for? Help me pick her up!"

At his command, Szayel regained his composure and stared completely deadpan at the scene playing out in front of him. "Do you have any idea what time it is? And how do you know the combination to the rear entrance?" he demanded, finding amusement in the difficulty that the Primera's sensitive nose was experiencing with the noxious fumes created from the spill. Truthfully, he couldn't find it in him to be angry when treated to something like watching the most powerful Hollow in existence fighting for air. However, it was at this point that karma took advantage of his momentary lapse into sadistic humor.

"What combination?" the blue-haired Arrancar coughed between a strained smirk.

He felt a migraine coming on now, each dull pang replacing an additional fraction of his mirth with indignation. "That door consists of a meter of anti-spiritual matter. Do you honestly expect me to believe that you forced it open with just muscle?"

Grimmjow ignored his incredulity, opting instead to hurl his baggage through the threshold before chasing after it and heaving in a gulp of clean air. "Damn it," he panted, fixing his inferior officer with a feral glare. "It took me hours to drag her through the storm and into the dome to get here, so don't go botherin' me with the details. Now, I'll tell you again. Help me pick this bitch up."

Szayel tilted his eyes up toward the heavens. It was occasions like these that reminded him why he had chosen to become a recluse. "Why does a man of your intelligence have to be so vulgar?" he chastised.

Running a gloved hand through his hair with a heavy sigh, he grudgingly decided to entertain the older Espada and took a look at what had supposedly warranted him to break into his lab. It was…well, he didn't know what it was now that he got over the urge to shoot a tranquilizer into his 'guest' and really examined it. Its appearance could only be described as gigantic, mirrored egg the size of an adult human.

"Oh this is peculiar," he said curiously, kneeling down by the foreign entity and catching his reflection. Tentatively, he reached out and pressed his hand against the polished surface, noting how he could see his image perfectly despite its callous texture – a phenomenon that was highly unusual. He then gently guided it over to his superior, annoyance totally forgotten in the presence of something so uncommon. "It's been too long since I've come into contact with anything that has escaped my immediate classification," the researcher declared excitedly. "Do you know anything about it?"

"It's a Hollow."

Szayel tripped over air, sending the egg sliding over to Grimmjow who stopped it with his foot. "Nonsense," he dismissed, laughing at the idea. "I don't know what kind of game you have in mind by making such a ridiculous joke, but this is certainly not a Hollow. It isn't emitting any reiatsu, nor does it even have a mask much less a hole."

"You think I'd bother coming all the way here just to play around," the former Sexta growled. "She started hiding her reiatsu when the rain hit her, and the storm must've made her skittish 'cause she decided to reform into this...thing." He rapped his hand on the reflective, metallic exterior for emphasis.

"Forgive me if I'm still not convinced. And why do you keep referring to it as a woman?"

Grimmjow sneered at the intellectual's unwillingness to assist him. Much to his chagrin, there wasn't a method in which could go about gaining his resources that involved beating him to death. That wasn't to say that he didn't have a backup plan though. Digging his hands into his pockets, he drew out two floral hairpins that looked like they had seen better days and offered them to the lesser hybrid. "Here's your proof."

Szayel cocked his head to the side dubiously and leaned in to study the accessories. They were spiritual manifestations, of that he was certain. Looking closer, he could plainly see that small pieces of them were flaking off and dissolving – an indicator for reiryoku decomposition which meant that their creator had either died or lost their powers. "I recognize these," he whispered to himself, "These are…" he snapped his gaze disbelievingly to the Hollow and back to Grimmjow, "these belong to the human girl that Aizen-sama had assigned to you! I knew that I'd seen them being used from the recording of your arm's restoration."

He began pacing around the room, an elated grin adorning his features. "This is truly something special. I can't thank you enough for bringing her here. Now then, what exactly did you want to have done to her, or did you decide to donate a specimen from one colleague to another? Maybe you-"

A disgusted scoff put an end to his reverie.

"Quit your prancing, and help me take her somewhere _dark_," Grimmjow ordered gruffly, hoping that he would get the hint. Above his head, a wall-mounted camera was continuing to document everything that transpired between the two.

Knitting his eyebrows together, Szayel blinked once as if the midnight intruder had said something indescribably foolish. "All of the surveillance in this laboratory is mine, Grimmjow. Aizen-sama would have executed me ten times over if he was able to see some of my…off-the-record achievements. I assure you, we're quite safe from prying eyes and ears."

"You think I'll believe that?"

"Does it matter? You're already disregarding curfew and carting around a dead hostage. You may as well keep going."

That was true, and he didn't like to argue with cold hard logic. Glancing up at the camera, he nodded. Even if Szayel was lying, the security personnel wouldn't have known, and the red status light representing misconduct would have blinked on long ago.

"Fine, let's get to work," Grimmjow said hesitantly, discreetly corroding the device's circuitry with a controlled burst of his reiatsu. Ignorance would call it paranoia; he would call it a costless elimination of unnecessary risks.

"Absolutely!" Szayel chimed. "Just give me a moment. Lumina!" he roared and summoned his rotund Fraccion who then appeared in such a manner that it seemed like she had been waiting just out of sight to be beckoned. "There's a mess in the pantry. I want you to sterilize the floor, ventilate the area, and then move what's left to the main storage facility, understand?"

The obese Arrancar leapt up and down in affirmation, hollering incoherent phrases that held no specific meaning before bouncing away into the storeroom.

Her master watched her go with a twisted sort of pride as Grimmjow made it a secondary objective to obliterate every single one of his creations after he betrayed Aizen. There were just some things that had no business being alive.

"I hate this fucking place," he groused under his breath.

Beside him, Szayel was having trouble with the egg which was as grating on his nerves as it was unsurprising. Momentarily suspending his abhorrence for the entirety of Las Noches, he kneeled down to grab the larger portion only for it to slip from his grasp yet again. A minute went by in a series of similarly fruitless attempts, and he was quickly becoming fed up with the timid nature of the Hollow's transportation, making it openly known when he delivered a light kick that sent it flying into the adjacent hallway.

Observing its trajectory, his pink-haired associate opened his mouth to protest but merely shrugged instead. There was no use in trying to convince him to act gently, and the creature's shell was, from what little he could tell, fairly durable.

That settled, he joined Grimmjow out in the stark white corridor that served as the laboratory's primary means of conveyance. Already, early-morning traffic from all over the area hurriedly passed them by with destinations ranging from Applied Sciences to the main research center. But while efficiency was all well and good, the hustle and bustle was going to complicate things. It wasn't until he spotted a nearby pair of Arrancar running with a gurney that he secured the egg and pushed it into the busy passage.

"Stop," he bellowed, causing the infirmary staff to unexpectedly halt their patient and bow deeply while he cut through the myriad with Grimmjow on his heels. "Give me your cart."

The Numeros looked to each other in bafflement. "Sir, there's wounded onboard," the bolder of the two stated, peeling back a thin sheet to expose a severely battered face.

"Come now, don't start naming trivialities," Szayel chided, unhooking the IV, handing it to the outspoken servant, and collapsing the metal arms keeping the patient from rattling around. "Go on, leave him. I'm sure someone will take care of things once he begins to smell." He made a shooing motion with his hand, forcing the staff into an ultimatum: they could either abandon the duties assigned to them by Aizen or disobey the direct orders of an Espada. It wasn't an easy decision to make, and so Grimmjow stepped up to choose for them.

"There, problem solved," he said irritably, tossing the shriveled corpse aside after draining the remnants of its life force. With the edge taken off of the storm's lingering effects, it would be much easier to tolerate his current predicament.

Meanwhile, having been relieved of their labor, the physicians promptly relinquished their charge and briskly strode away, fearing for their lives.

Szayel chuckled at their hasty departure. "It seems that your methods are more suited to the ill-disciplined than mine."

"Shut up," Grimmjow grunted as he hefted the Hollow awkwardly over his shoulder and loaded it onto the gurney. "Now, get busy pullin'. I want to get out of this mess and go somewhere where we can figure out what needs to be done with her."

"So pushy," Szayel grumbled, reluctantly gripping the front rail of the cart and trudging down the hall while Grimmjow rested a steadying hand atop the egg.

Wordlessly, the two made their way through the crowd, passing innumerable divisions of both spiritual and physical sciences in a matter of minutes. Yet despite the increasingly absurd distance from the start of his trek, Grimmjow remained ignorant of both the time and the throngs of worker-class Arrancar that parted before him in reverence. He was focused instead on the gentle, rhythmic clacking of rubber wheels against the tiles' edges and watching the countless doors fly by until the scenes beyond blurred together. Progress, stalemate, success, failure, treatment, torture, life, and death. Black and white: the definition of Las Noches. He could hardly wait to leave it behind.

Alone or with his pack, he _was_ leaving, and the sun and the stars couldn't do a damn thing to stop him.

"So where are you taking her?"

Szayel clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "The medical ward, of course."

"I didn't bring her here for an autopsy," came the stern revile.

"Yes well, you didn't tell me much of anything about why you brought her, did you?" Szayel huffed. "Regardless of what you want, I'll require a thorough examination beforehand, so please just let me work."

Clenching his teeth, Grimmjow kept the egg in place and partially resigned to let the other man operate freely within his area of expertise. By no means was he keen on entrusting something so delicate to the textbook definition of a mad scientist, but his lack of a choice had already been made aggravatingly apparent. If this was the only way he could repay his debt, then so be it.

And he'd told her that she was on her own. He was too generous for his own good.

"She doesn't need an examination," he repeated tersely. "I need her to evolve…fast. I want more of those counterfeit Hollows so I can increase her worth before Aizen finds out that his leverage is dead."

Szayel tittered knowingly. "I guessed as much; the only one who willingly comes here for biological modifications is Nnoitra after all." A disgusted hiss briefly interrupted him. "You know, it would have been much simpler had you told me when you first walked in," he resumed, wagging his finger in mock reprehension as his lips curled into a lopsided grin. "Harribel did the same thing when she stood where you are now. She wanted those old toys when my current technology could have facilitated your transformation with a vastly improved procedure."

"Current technology?"

"Indeed, those synthetic vegetables that I sold to our mutual friend had been left to rot in cold storage. They were just a crude intermediary between my masterpieces…ah," the flamboyant Espada caught his tongue and cleared his throat melodramatically, "I suppose I've said too much; looks like I'll have to tell you everything."

Grimmjow blanked. He'd always known the Eighth to be a renegade, so much so that he had been demoted to the rank of Privaron at least twice in his service to Aizen. The man compulsively stirred up trouble amongst Las Noches' most prominent residents only to see where the sparks would land, hoping that it would be somewhere flammable. Not only that, but he really liked to hear himself talk.

"Those Hollows were the initial product of my research into both accelerated growth and evolution. The early generations, the ones you ate, they were just shells with unrefined reiryoku. Well, I've advanced since then to say the least. Those little candies that Aizen-sama is so fond of can attest to that. They were created through a process which harvests the liquid reishi released by the rainy season and converts the energy into a stable, completely animate reiryoku."

Szayel beamed proudly at Grimmjow's shocked reaction. "I'm thrilled that you realize what this breakthrough signifies."

"Fake bodies and fake power…"

"That's right," the lesser-Arrancar affirmed smoothly, pulling the cart into a closed chamber reminiscent of an operating room, "I've successfully manufactured the components for spiritual life."

The Primera froze in the doorway, no longer able to sustain his normal air of indifference. "Aizen put you up to it, didn't he?" he accused menacingly.

"Naturally," Szayel said, transporting the Hollow over from the gurney to the adjacent table. "While I _am_ satisfied with my recent accomplishments, biology was never my favorite field. I'd much rather spend my time doing things like this." He paused and gestured for Grimmjow to hold his subject while he strapped it to the table. "Luckily for me, rapid evolution is also something that Aizen-sama has expressed great interest in."

"Why am I not surprised?" Grimmjow muttered, abruptly seizing Szayel's arm when he saw that he now held a scalpel amongst a whole host of other surgical instruments. "I thought I said no examinations. All you need to do is force-feed her, right?"

"Wrong," was the blunt counter, "I'm going to intravenously administer a constant stream of hyper-dense reiryoku, and to do that, I need to analyze her anatomy to see what goes where. It's the only way since she's taken such an abstract shape. I assure you, the procedure's perfectly harmless. In fact, I would have allowed you to undergo the same if only you'd told me what you were up to yesterday."

Szayel's countenance suddenly became mischievous. "But before I begin, I want you to know that this is putting us both at risk, and I don't possess the same immunity of rank as you do. Should we be discovered, I'll have to face very harsh consequences. You see, I'm going to need some compensation if I'm going to be your accomplice."

Grimmjow scowled, contemplating whether or not he should just slam the man's head on the operating table. "What do you want, the same thing Tia gave you?"

"Not quite, although fluid samples are a good place to st-" the Octava was cut off when a thick glob of saliva impacted his cheek.

"That's for starters. Let me know if you want more."

"Much obliged," Szayel said with a disconcerting amount of enthusiasm and dragged his lengthy tongue over the spit, drawing it into his mouth. "I'll extract that for testing when I'm free."

Grimmjow made a face.

"All joking aside," Szayel continued without missing a beat, "I was hoping that I could keep these." Reaching into his pocket, he produced the degraded hairpins.

"No."

"I thought so," he sighed, moving to the other end of the room and dropping the accessories into a tall glass cylinder filled with a fluorescent green substance. "This is a stasis tank. We normally use it to assist in repairing damaged Zanpakuto, but it should function much the same as long as she hybridizes within the week. I'm not certain whether she'll be able to use them or not though; keep that in mind. The fact that those weapons or whatever they are haven't fully disappeared means that she is retaining a moderate amount of her humanity in this stage of the Hollowfication, quite a rare sight. Once her soul fully hollowfies, those things may vanish completely even in stasis."

That could be a problem. More so than repaying his debt by making her strong, Grimmjow wanted her power. At first, having both seemed impossible, but the more he thought about it…

"Have her evolve before she finishes."

A pink brow arched up towards the ceiling. "Oh? You really want to leave it up to chance like that? In theory, becoming a Menos would save what little of her mortal life remains by tricking her soul into thinking that it's fully transformed into a Hollow since it has the body of one. However, you'll be inviting a fair share of difficulties for her. Then again, I could help you with those as well if you have the right coin."

Grimmjow mumbled a swear, rummaging through his excessively deep pockets and yanking out a half-eaten hunk of meat which he tossed haphazardly over to Szayel. "That should cover it."

The mangled commodity's recipient stared at it quizzically. "An arm? What am I supposed to do with this? More importantly, whose arm _is_ this?"

"Baraggan's."

Szayel's eyes widened as he chortled in disbelief. "I see. In that case, this is more than enough," he said giddily, submerging the severed appendage in another glowing tank to preserve it for the time being. "You two fought again, did you? I'm surprised that I didn't feel it from here."

Now it was Grimmjow's turn to laugh. "You think that our difference in power was small enough for us to have something like a fight? You're an idiot. I stomped that fuckin' old man back down into his rightful place. Anyway, quit wasting time. I need her evolved as high as she'll go before the Shinigami wake up."

"Very well," Szayel announced, clapping his hands together to detract from the sting of instinctual fear brought about by the Vasto Lorde's gloating. "I only wish that you hadn't brought this arm to me in its current condition. If you're really that hungry, you can eat one of my Fraccion while I go and prepare the necessary equipment for this operation. I've decided against performing a vivisection until I return."

"How are they, your servants?"

"Rather good if you don't mind the texture."

"I think I'll pass."

"Your loss," sang the flamingo-haired soldier as he picked up the limb's container and carried it out of the room.

"Tch." Grimmjow waved him off with a lone finger aimed at his retreating form before the door closed and left him in alone in Las Noches' all-encompassing silence – something that he would never again take for granted. It had been a long day, too damn long for his taste. Between his own illegal evolution, evading security multiple times, confronting Aizen, saving the girl's life, beating Baraggan twice, and then failing to save the girl's life, he was starting to succumb to the mental fatigue. And now a new day was beginning with more of the same, story of his life.

Leaning his back against the table on which the egg rested, he swore and dug his pipe out of his hakama. He then packed it with a large amount of shredded tobacco and set it ablaze with a controlled release of cero energy.

"I'm starting to think that you're more trouble than you're worth." Wispy puffs of fragrant smoke took to the air as he spoke. A moment passed, and he turned partway to rap his hand on the mirrored creature behind him. "I'm trying to make you less of a pain in the ass, Orihime. The least you can do is wake up so that I'm not talkin' to my fucking self."

There was no response at first, not until Grimmjow vented a small portion of the reiatsu he had been suppressing in order to keep his immediate surroundings from vaporizing.

Minutes went by in silence, and after gradually distinguishing the familiar energy signature, the egg split open. Initially, it simply became unbound, its shell pulling apart at various points along the exterior. But then, the entire structure simultaneously fell flat against the table, sending a dull sound echoing off the walls as the Hollow morphed into a surprisingly human shape.

All the while, Grimmjow had been observing the phenomenon with a passive sort of curiosity. "Good enough."

He gazed down upon what had become of his prisoner of war, eyes stony but pitying. There was nothing to look into. All across her body, the only thing he saw was his own reflection, so he just moved his vision to the metal sphere that he could only assume was a head. "You really remind of myself, ya know that?" he said in a low voice, toying with the long steel ribbons that so much resembled hair. "I was around your age – maybe a little younger – when I came here to this world. It didn't take me long to figure out that I was different, better for reasons that I didn't understand. Looking at you now, it's easy to see that you're different too."

Grimmjow exhaled steadily before taking a long drag from his pipe. Leering at the faceless wraith had stirred in him an unwelcome mix of emotions that constituted a somber remembrance of days long gone.

"I don't feel bad about what I've done to you," he confessed solemnly. "You might not like it. Actually, I'm expecting you to hate me when you wake up, but I don't care. You said so yourself that you wanted to be like me. Well, here you are!" Pent-up frustration had caused his words to gradually quicken and lighten in their weight as he now faced her completely. Something about his decision to rip out her chain of fate had refused to sit right with him. It had nothing to do with her, he was sure of that; he had spoken the truth when it came to his absence of remorse. So why did her death have him so oddly bothered?

Biting the silver stem of his kiseru*, he glowered at the sleeping Hollow, inaudibly demanding answers until his eyes lost their fire and began to show his age. The overbearing nostalgia had suddenly snuffed out his temper and left him with a bitter recognition. As per usual, he'd been overthinking things. Because when he got down to it, he was just alone, yelling at his own reflection.

"Fuck." Grimmjow slumped backwards until his elbows found the unoccupied gurney, converting his posture into a concave slant. It was hard to admit, but he really wished that Szayel would hurry up.

As if on cue, an approaching reiatsu signature garnered his attention. Instantly, he righted his position so as not to give any hint of his exhausted condition and got to work readjusting Orihime's restraints to prevent her from reverting back to her previous form. Midway through, however, he made to tighten one of the straps and stalled, glancing studiously in the direction of the oncoming energy.

…_the hell?_

When he had first felt it, he hadn't bothered to regard anything more than the existence of the presence. As it neared though, he couldn't shake the unease brought on by its subtle nature. It was suppressed to the point of becoming a candle's flame which wasn't necessarily uncommon for Espada, but Szayel had no reason to take that kind of precaution. In his unreleased state, he didn't emit reiatsu at excessively harmful levels unlike _other, _higher-ranking officers. That meant that he was either trying to remain undetectable – an unlikely possibility since he allegedly governed his laboratory's security – or someone else of considerable power was inside the lab.

His mind swarmed with potential suspects and calculated multiple methods in which to deal with almost every one of them. Unfortunately, his preparations proved to be all for nothing when the reiatsu reached a distance that allowed Grimmjow to answer the very key question of Hollow or Shinigami?

The candle's flame had been a guise; a coiled serpent lay beneath it.

Grimmjow braced for the inevitable, making no effort to hide the prone demi-Hollow amongst the cabinets and machinery. For the moment, his concern was buried under genuine interest for how things would progress from here on out.

Palm flat against the hilt of his sword, he inhaled harshly from his pipe and tongued over the smoldering tobacco embers that had rode in on his breath.

Across the room, the door eased open noiselessly, and in stepped the one man that Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez had difficulty reading.

"How'd ya find me?"

Ichimaru Gin further stretched his vulpine features as he strolled leisurely to the end of the operating table opposite from Grimmjow. "The usual signs," he said, amused. "I woke up thirsty, and along my way to get some water, I couldn't help but notice that someone had kicked Szayel-Aporro's door in."

"So you decided to investigate, huh?" Grimmjow queried, wearing a face that was as equally unreadable as his opponent's. "Was it my reiatsu?"

"Oh, you released it? I was wondering why the outside of this room was melting so conspicuously." Gin now sat on the edge of the table, resting his chin atop the valley of his joined hands. "No, I didn't know about that," several flashes of light illuminated the chamber in quick succession while he spoke, "which means that those other thirsty people wandering around probably didn't feel it either." He retracted his wakizashi and plucked an impaled camera lens from the blade.

Grimmjow smirked. This man really was something interesting. "Szayel actually _does_ handle the security around here?" he remarked offhandedly, relaxing into the verbal game that was fast unfolding between himself and the fox-faced Shinigami.

The first critical move was his.

"Tia told me that you two talked."

Gin recoiled in mock distress. "You don't have to be so blunt about it," he chuckled.

"On a better day at a better time, put some sake in front of me, and I'll dance around with words as much as you want. You're better practice than Ulquiorra. Right now though, Pinky's gonna be back soon, so one of us has to be straightforward, and I'm better at it than you are," Grimmjow informed his compatriot darkly, drawing his Zanpakuto. "That considered, here's the deal: you make this easy and I won't split your lips."

The Overseer's mask stayed firmly in place despite the threat and abrupt change in the Primera's demeanor that accompanied it. "Scary. Scary," he said with a noticeable drop in his tone. "Meetin' you like this, it's easy to see why Aizen-Taicho's losing sleep."

Grimmjow wouldn't have any more pleasantries. "Tell me why you're here, Ichimaru. While you're at it, tell me what you're up to and what Aizen's got planned, or I'll break that sword you've got aimed at me under the table and cut your eyes out with it. And don't think for a second that I'm fucking with you," he admonished, tapping the aforementioned short sword with his foot.

A sliver of sky blue became visible in the slits separating Gin's eyelids. "Oh no, I wouldn't dare. After all, I did come here on business. Thing is, you're a very poor investment at the moment. You've went and gotten this idea in your head that you're invincible, and that's caused you to make some pretty amateur mistakes. Aizen-Taicho's not going to let you run free forever, and," he held up his hand to prevent an interruption, "Aizen-Taicho can bring the weight of those mistakes back down on you no matter how strong you think ya are," he stated, the mischief drained from his voice and replaced by a venomously neutral articulation.

Responding in kind, Grimmjow also discarded his hot-headed front in favor of the ancient emanation that he had dispelled only minutes ago. Once again, his eyes hardened, frozen over with a millennium of experience that firmly established his dominance over the far younger ex-captain. "Is that how it is?" Even the erratic, passionate cadence of his speech had slowed to a predatory drawl.

"Afraid so," Gin said evenly. "He's more powerful than you and I know. I won't help you if you and your little band of rebels attack him before the time comes."

"So you _are_ against him?"

"For my own reasons, I s'pose so."

"Assuming that's true, I guess Aizen knows too, huh?"

Gin eyed his co-conspirator's pipe enviously before responding. "That's obvious. He's not the type to have not realized my intentions after a century spent lickin' his boots. Well, you wouldn't know since you went and made it somewhat obvious in your case." A brief note of his humor resurfaced and then vanished. "We're lucky though, me and you. Whether it's just passing interest or something a little more, he wants to keep us around."

"Keh," Grimmjow spat, sheathing his sword and listening as Ichimaru did the same. "You're overestimating him and underestimating me. I'll kill him, Tousen, and Ulquiorra before the sand dries outside, you watch. I'll eat the three of 'em right in front of you."

Inspiring as it may have been, the Vasto Lorde's sworn vengeance only conjured up a slideshow of surreal images within Gin's mind. Ulquiorra in particular looked especially hilarious with an apple stuffed in his mouth.

Dumping the dregs from his kiseru, Grimmjow pretended to ignore the man's momentary absence from reality and repacked the bowl.

"I suppose that confidence must come from somewhere," Gin yielded, back to his normal, incomprehensible persona. "Seems that everyone's underestimating each other if you ask me. Speaking of Cifer-san though, Aizen-Taicho's gone and sent him out to get ya."

"Figures. Does anyone actually go to bed around here?"

"Not really, no. Everyone's waiting for the storm to end."

Grimmjow snorted. "They know that war's coming, so they're getting restless and lining up for the deathmarch. It's unsurprising; Hollows always die tired. That's the kind of predictability that inspires bad poetry," he scorned distastefully, looking to the ceiling in contemplation. "You Shinigami didn't have much trouble enslaving my species, did you?"

Gin's smile thinned as he parted the hem of his robe and proffered a jug of sake that had been fixed to his sash. "To be fair, you and Wolf-san more than made up for it," he teased, using his thumb to send a saucer flipping through the air and into Grimmjow's waiting hand. "Well, it's been fun chatting, but I believe you wanted this to hurry along. Let's negotiate."

"Fine, you know what I want." Grimmjow held his dish loosely in the air while the Overseer poured.

"You're asking for a debt then." The jug was placed atop a small instrument tray that hovered over Orihime. "Surely you know that in these sorts of shady transactions, things of equal value must be exchanged, and death threats ain't hardly currency," Gin chastised, frowning when the Arrancar began to drink instead of pouring his sake for him.

Acting as if he hadn't heard the man's attempt at bargaining, Grimmjow casually downed the contents of his saucer and held it back out for a refill. "I'll kill Aizen. That's more than enough to compensate for a little information and this tasteless piss you're giving me," he declared tersely. "Based on what you've already told me, his arrogance is keeping him from noticing just how powerful I've become. That gives me an advantage, not that I really need one."

Gin's lips straightened incredulously before he forwent etiquette altogether and took a sip straight from his jug. "Aizen-Taicho's not on the same level as Luisenbarn-san, you know. Fighting him is a different kind of battle. He's more than just strong."

The jug was passed to the other side of the table.

"I told you not to underestimate me, youngblood. I've dealt with a lot worse than Aizen." Grimmjow drank fiercely from the porcelain decanter and slammed it down for emphasis. "Before that bastard was even born, I'd survived two S-class genocides and killed more Vasto Lordes than months he spent swimming around in his whore of a mother's stomach!"

Ichimaru was taken aback by the sudden blaze of ardor, narrowly avoiding injury when the jug made its way back around to him. One more ill-thought provocation was sure to send Grimmjow leaping over the operating table to get his point across. "Calm down, Jaegerjaquez-san," he entreated halfheartedly, waving his hands defensively in front of him with exaggerated movements. "I'm only giving you a fair warning. Like I said, I can't help you if you become impatient and attack him blindly."

"I don't need help, brat. Your involvement with my pack will only make things easier for me. Don't delude yourself into thinking otherwise," the ascended Hollow growled, his eyes retaining their cold, callous luster in place of the burning fury that Gin had anticipated to find himself targeted by.

Taking advantage of the resulting waver in the seditious captain's composure, the hybrid crossed the barrier between the two in one swift bound and placed his face inches from his.

Alarmed, Gin inadvertently revealed a small portion of his azure orbs once more.

"From the first day I came to Hueco Mundo," Grimmjow started, sweat-like beads of liquid reiatsu dripping from his body and dematerializing the areas of the floor that were unprotected by anti-spiritual tiles, "I've been fighting to keep on living, and I've been doing it alone. In my own right, I went from hidin' inside corpses to conquering the entire forest. I have the power and will to have grown from being hunted by every fucking monster in this place to the King!"

Although they were the same height, Gin felt that he had to strain his neck to meet Grimmjow's frigid gaze as he recounted his past. He recognized that feeling; he knew it well. There was a certain illusionary quality exuded by those that possessed the abilities to lead with charisma and ignite forgotten parts of the heart that made them seem so much larger than their bodies. He had seen it first from Aizen, then Yamamoto, and now Grimmjow.

Maybe, just maybe…

Amongst the Espada, he had always been the odd one out. There was no fear in him, no physical attachments, no subservience to Aizen, nothing that weakened him other than his own limitations. And with his recent transformation, those limitations had all been erased as if his body had finally caught up with the rest of him. The way he was now, he was the ideal weapon to use against Aizen.

"Okay, I'll answer as best I can."

Grimmjow hitched in the midst of his tirade. "What the hell are you on about?"

"I'm not going to try to convince you to do things my way since you seem so opposed to it," Gin explained with a boyish shrug, gulping down a moderate amount of sake afterwards. "Go ahead and ask me whatever you want."

To prevent any further degradation of his mental health, Grimmjow decided to ride out the conversation's newest whiplash and ignore the urge to rampage. "Do me a favor and just come out and tell me if you're wasting my time," he sighed, declining the rotating sake jug and moving his pipe back to his mouth.

The Overseer chortled lightly. "Don't get upset, Jaegerjaquez-san. It took me a little while to be able to put some faith in you, that's all."

"Like I need an esteem boost from a guy nine centuries younger than me who has gray hair and a bad taste in liquor," Grimmjow snapped coolly.

Ichimaru stared at his rice wine self-consciously. "Maybe I should'a phrased that better. What I'm trying to say is, at the very least, I'm confident that you can wound Aizen-Taicho no matter when you decide to go after him. Now I'm happy with that; I can take care of the rest if you do that much."

"Do you shut your ears as much as your eyes?" The Vasto Lorde was smoking meditatively, using his hand to coax Orihime to a stillness after she had been unconsciously struggling against her bindings subsequent Gin's arrival. "I won't let myself die, not after enduring so much. Do you have any god damn idea what I had to sacrifice to be able to come this far?"

"'Course," Gin chimed, radiating forced enthusiasm. "Same things I had to: relations, emotions, hopes, dreams, those parts of ya that would've kept you warm in a place like this. I had to give all of that up when I was just this tall," bending his knees, he illustrated a child's height with his hand, "I had to learn to live without it so that I could move forward."

Grimmjow's jaw tightened, marking his deflation. He knew perfectly well that anything Ichimaru Gin said was to be taken with a grain of salt, but the uncomfortable familiarity he received from Orihime had returned as a strong resonance that wouldn't permit questioning the man's honesty, only his origin.

"Because of Aizen?"

"Yeah," came the hollow reply.

A curtain of mutual understanding fell over the room, and the jug was put back into motion.

"You said he sent Ulquiorra to come find me, right? That means he knows I'm awake but not where I am," Grimmjow thought aloud, taking a drink that surpassed the bounds of leisure.

"Tastes even worse."

Gin nodded. "Tousen's busy searching the security records too. By the way, I love how you had Lily-chan remove the audio from those recordings from a couple'a days ago. Count yourself short one life that he called on me instead of Aizen-Taicho."

"Wouldn't have mattered. I like to test my limits."

"I never would've guessed from looking at the tape of you amputating an Espada during lights out before you went to hide a dead prisoner in the same place that you're conspiring with me. Honestly, if you'd had a konso, I bet I'd be talking to a proper Captain of Second Division right now."

The two men snickered.

"Your sarcasm's usually at a higher level, or did you think that I wasn't schooled on Soul Society?" Grimmjow asked, smirking while he took notice of the resurging presence of Orihime's reiatsu underneath the hand he had left on what would have been her forehead.

That reminded him.

"One more thing. Szayel told me that he's been ordered to create living Hollows. I want to know why."

Gin's expression remained unchanged. "I'm sure you already know."

He was afraid that he would say that. "How far off the ground is it? When could he start breeding a force that can hold a sword?"

"Anywhere from three weeks to two months depending on how fast Granz-san can individually grow them. The storm will end before then though, so don't worry."

An imminent crash of the moon into Hueco Mundo couldn't have made him worry. However, he was in fact perfectly capable of feeling apprehension towards things that would later become a pain in the ass, and a manufactured army was sure to warrant more than sleeping on his stomach.

Now in spite of what one would expect from his linear, omni-carnivorous reputation, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez did know math. He knew full well that an unbalanced equation couldn't be solved without gaining and losing certain values. Unfortunately for him, he had never had any practical application of his mathematical prowess, and as such, he was generally inexperienced. Philosophy and hedonism was more his style, and so being the unlikely philosopher that he was, he knew that experience with a practice bred patience with it.

This was what allowed him to take his mind off of Szayel's near-constructed assembly line and stay the much simpler course of ripping Aizen's head off before it could ever become a reality.

Elsewhere, in the physical realm…

"Was it that easy to see when I'd be making my move?" Grimmjow muttered, shaking his head. "How about yours, same time?"

"Depends on what Aizen-Taicho's up to. He tends to leave me out of the loop right up until the last minute. Keeps me guessing, ya know? But wouldn't it be nice if Soul Society invaded?" Gin mused whimsically, padding up to the operating table and peering down at Orihime, grinning all the while.

"See now, this is the sort of amateur mistake I was talkin' about. Sooner or later, Aizen-Taicho's going to realize that you're more than just a dog of war if you keep this up."

"I'll keep that in mind." The graduated dog expelled a gossamer mist of reiatsu, not enough to cause harm to Orihime but an amount necessary to stave off Ichimaru's own spiritual power which seemed to cause her a great deal of distress. Once she was pacified, he then eyed the looming fox, faintly surprised. "You can tell it's _her_?"

"I wouldn't be very good at my job if I didn't pull some recordings after the Tercera Espada comes into His Majesty's throne room bleedin' all over the floor, now would I? Well, I guess I am anyway since I'm here talking to you right now. Point is, you go in to a blind spot on the surveillance empty-handed after she runs in with Luisenbarn-san and you come back out with some kinda egg. What was I supposed to think?"

A slender finger fell upon the mirror-girl's nose, and she jerked sharply to escape the contact only for more bony digits to descend. This caused her to break into minor convulsions as Gin's hands mimicked spiders atop her face.

"Knocked out, huh? She must've had a rough death," the death god commented, satisfied with her reaction.

Hadn't they all, Grimmjow thought morosely.

He watched the scene play out, wondering if being strapped to a table and mirthfully prodded at by some unpleasant man making use of her helplessly slumbering form was a kind of metaphor for her past life. The very thought of it shook his inner qualms about her Hollowfication until they clicked firmly in place with his resolve to assist her.

Grimmjow pondered what that meant for a moment. Calling the decision selfless or benevolent would be a mistake; he was too far gone for that. A much more accurate label would be compensation.

What better way to repay the strength she had given him than by giving her strength of her own, he figured. And like him before her, she needed strength...badly.

"She was a cute one, reminded me of a friend o' mine." Gin retracted his fingers and tore Grimmjow from his reverie. "I gotta admit, Jaegerjaquez-san. I'm not too fond of sad stories," he lamented, appearing as an animated mask of Shakespearean tragedy.

No sympathy came from the aeon of destruction.

"What made you go and bring her here anyhow? Luisenbarn-san's going to be the one getting bent over Aizen-Taicho's throne for this." Amusing as it may have been, that image didn't detract from the genuine intrigue in his question.

In response, a vapid countenance overtook Grimmjow's already withdrawn features. The ambiguous sophistry was getting to him, outwardly expressed as a tobacco-infused sigh. "I wanted to give her the power to live for her own sake."

The fox's eternal smile faltered unnoticeably, and both undead soldiers swiveled their eyes to Orihime, each discovering in her a window to better days.

"That'll do ya."

Blood-scented predators rendered momentarily docile, the pair located their drinking saucers and poured for one another in an otherworldly display of shared ceremony. They then touched dishes and drank to an unspoken toast, honoring not Inoue Orihime the human turned Hollow but Inoue Orihime the symbol.

Both blue-eyed demons drained their respective tributes simultaneously, signaling for Gin to offer some to the invalid herself who was unsurprisingly mute on the matter. "Suit yourself." He jabbed her head one final time and extended a second round. His makeshift companion accepted, finding the taste oddly sweeter and well-suited to the cold. Nonetheless, he wasn't particularly enjoying the social implications of guzzling alcohol so tamely with the man beside him. Never in his immortal life had he ever thought it possible to stand on common ground with Ichimaru Gin.

"I'm going to need a lot more of this." It was painfully true too. His new body's regenerative capabilities would require an ocean of sake to overcome.

"No can do. Sorry to break it to you, but you have a summons from His Highness to take care of," Aizen's adherent merrily chided. "Plus, you shouldn't be drinking before you've had breakfast. You're eyes are glowing in case you hadn't noticed."

Annoyed, Grimmjow inspected his reflection for what had to be the fourth time, and sure enough, a tinge of blue stained his sclera directly above the jagged onyx markings cradling his lower eyelids. Damn, he had assumed that the earlier meal would have been enough to cover any physical alterations. This minor concern, however, only translated as, "You're worse than the women I fuck."

A set of willowy arms formed a hapless shrug. "Only lookin' out for my investment, Jaegerjaquez-san."

Gin quickly rose from where he had unceremoniously sat on the operating table, collecting his cups and stowing them up his sleeve. "Well, I've said my piece. I can't exactly remember, but I think we reached an agreement somewhere."

"Pleasure's all yours, kid. It's been real," Grimmjow dismissed brusquely, watching him turn and motion to leave.

Reflecting back on what little information he had managed to glean from his early morning visitor, everything that had been disclosed to him was most likely a lie. But Gin was a seasoned liar, and the best type of lie was the one that had some truth in it. He could work with that. Besides, while the man's proposal for an alliance left much to mull over, he was undoubtedly against Aizen. Being an accomplished narcissist, the Primera Espada had no trouble flaunting his innate ability to read others. Ichimaru, "for his own reasons," was indeed an enemy of Aizen Sousuke. He had heard it in his serpent's tongue, saw it in the way the musculature of his face grew strained when he spoke his name, even felt it while his reiatsu constricted in sadistic pleasure while he decried savage death upon his self-imposed master.

He remained untrustworthy, though he had his uses. Grimmjow was content with that, enough so that he could forgive him for using his standing and the knowledge it granted him to leave him coming out on the bottom of their negotiation.

"Ah," the source of his placation exclaimed not two steps from the door, "almost forgot." Without warning, his robe fluttered in an unnatural wind, heralding a streaking lance of white light that exploded out from the cover of his garment. Traveling at mach speed, the deadly arc surged through the air in hopes of piercing the Arrancar's heart. Then from seemingly nowhere, there was an ear-splitting boom followed by a great rush of air that sent every unfixed object in the room sailing inward to where Grimmjow no longer stood.

"Nice try, youngblood."

Ichimaru's grin widened in such a manner that his canines poked out lethally from beneath his lips. "Yeah, you turned out to be a pretty good investment, Jaegerjaquez-san," he said approvingly, shrinking his Zanpakuto to a manageable size and sheathing it accordingly. Before him, Grimmjow relaxed against the threshold marking the operating room's entrance, hands stuffed nonchalantly inside his pockets.

"First time I used sonido with this body's full speed. Almost hit the damn wall 'cause I wasn't ready for it." Imaginary dust was mercilessly swept from his shoulder. "You'd better take off now. Half of Hueco Mundo probably heard that bang."

Gin still bore his fangs, apparently unperturbed at the notion of being found out. "Bye-bye, then. Don't worry, I know where to find you and how to make sure that Aizen doesn't," he cattily assured, walking off with his ceramic jug slung over his back. "Thanks for the company. Maybe Wolf-san can help me pick up where with left off."

A few steps were taken in his normal spindly swagger before he vanished in a gust of shunpo, leaving behind a simple, beleaguering admonition.

"Don't let him show you his Shikai again."

Half-feral aquamarine jewels widened considerably, yet one thing prevented their owner from giving chase to the silver blur, and that was…

"WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL WAS THAT NOISE?"

Flying down the main corridor like a bat out of hell, Szayel-Aporro Granz practically rode the hallway traffic until he reached the side avenue housing the Intensive Care Unit and skidded to a stop outside of the O.R.

Scanning the vicinity like a parent would for their lost child, he eventually caught sight of Grimmjow past the open door which Gin had almost knocked off its hinges during his supersonic departure and swatted his way over to him through the sea of personnel. "You vicious brute! I should have known better than to leave you unattended when you bear the aspect of destruction!" he hollered accusingly.

The manic lab technician then advanced upon his quarry, sharply indicating to the warped tiles bordering the surrounding section of the passage and blared, "Why is the wall melting? What was that noise? And who dismantled all of the cameras from here to the rear entrance?"

In reaction to this hysterical screeching, the neighboring rush of commerce halted and formed up with the small band of inquisitive souls loitering around ever since the sonic boom had effectively deafened them for the time being.

Meanwhile, Grimmjow removed his fingers from his ears. He wasn't sure how, but that segue into remonstrance had harmed his heightened sense of hearing more than breaking the sound barrier.

Tied snugly in his sash, his sword rattled.

_**That one's got a mouth on him, partner. After he finishes with the girl, let's make an instrument out of him.**_

_Heh, I'll carve his bones into a shakuhachi and turn his guts into a shamisen. Starrk needs something to replace that six-stringed noisemaker of his anyway. And Tia, she'll get the flute. The two of 'em together can play us some court music. _

"Well?"

Bemused, the murderous daydreamer cut communications with his weapon and answered the Octava's volley of questions in explicit detail.

"Reiatsu. Sonido. Got bored."

Szayel narrowed his eyes, working the chaste replies over in his head. He had already seen his superior's vitriolic spiritual power at work the day before in his first fight with Baraggan, so that was plausible enough. That sound, on the other hand, was that really his sonido? It had sounded like a gunshot. The rate of acceleration would have to have been astronomical in order to create that level of sonic pressure in the confined areas of his laboratory. It was more than a little unnerving, although not nearly as much as the prospect of the man becoming bored. Good heavens, he counted his blessings that his faculty hadn't been reduced to marionettes forced to put on a show by using their tendons and ligaments as strings.

_Wait…_

His nose crinkled and his nostrils flared. There was an unwelcome scent coming from close by. Not just any normal stench though, it was the odor of anarchy: smoke.

_Don't tell me that this nightmarish beast wasn't content with disrupting my surveillance relay and resorted to setting fires._

The bespectacled sociopath rubbed his forehead in exasperation. "Slaves!" he commanded of a sudden, spinning to address the hoard of startled onlookers. "Return to your assigned tasks at once! And someone prepare a fire emergency team to be readily dispatched should I need them. That is all."

At his imperative, the throngs of hideously deformed Fraccion murmured to one another as they sluggishly filed out to carry on with their day's labors.

"Fire emergency team?" Grimmjow spoke up, shutting the door behind him when Szayel brushed past without heed and commenced a thorough search for…something.

For a moment, the thought of helping him look for whatever hidden disturbance had him so ruffled crossed his mind, but he firmly decided against it. The dire manner of the investigation was proving to be quite entertaining, and he had an inkling that he was the one responsible for bringing this about through some happy accident. Orihime could stay asleep a little longer, he resigned, reuniting with his pipe after Ichimaru's attack had sent it clattering to the floor. Idly, he sat and practiced blowing rings while his comrade briskly waded through the slew of medical paraphernalia that had been scattered across the floor as a result of the vacuum manifested from the earlier blast of sonido.

This spectacle lasted for an indefinite period of time.

"I give up." Szayel threw his hands in the air, defeated. He had checked every corner and cupboard of the room in pursuit of the phantom flames. "Where did you…" his voice trailed off as he spied the other demi-Hollow's kiseru. Oh yes, the migraine from before was back in full force.

Too worn to be frustrated, he stormed up to the pipe's owner and cursed the fact that he lacked the scent memory of burning tobacco to be used in comparison to that of a potential fire.

"Smoking is not permitted inside my facilities."

Grimmjow merely exhaled the dragon's breath through his nose as Szayel waited, hands on his hips, for him to comply. "Deal with it," he said laconically. "Either I smoke or," a faint glow emanated from his unoccupied fingers, "both of us do. Catch my drift?"

_**Give it a rest. Funning with the fledglings is Fox-Face's fulltime kick, not yours. Concentrate on the girl and Aizen. **_

The fell King scowled.

_Fine._

"Nevermind." Burning his pipe's chamber dry with a single lengthy drag, his taloned digits returned to being only moderately life-threatening. And after a second spent knocking ash and other residue from the silver bowl, he proceeded to usher Szayel over to Orihime. "Let's get started."

Fortune favored him as his eagerness seemed to defuse the scathing rebuttal that would have been, earning the bioengineer's flustered acquiescence instead.

"Very well," Szayel said through gritted teeth. "If Aizen-sama hadn't kept me tarrying for so long with issuing the new ink for those affected by your promotion, then we'd be well on our way by now." His words carried an edge that had been sharpened more by Las Noches' apparent insomnia than from being threatened. Even from the sanctity of his lab, he was less than thrilled about working during a time when his lord and master could easily keep tabs on him.

Still, he had a job to do.

With a huff, Szayel regarded the woman that would soon fall under his knife. "Good. I see she's taken on a more humanoid shape. I was hoping to avoid having to pry her open." He continued to examine the glass Hollow, noting the blossoming hole in her breast and the mass of polished material forming atop her face where a mask would later sprout.

Satisfied that her transformation had ample time left before its completion, he snapped his fingers, and a chorus of machinery hummed to life from beyond the operating room's perimeter.

"Now, prepare yourself, Grimmjow, to witness future of evolution," he proclaimed, a giddy smile doing away with his foul mood as the ceiling tiles parted to uncover a pulsating bulk of machina interlaced with a sickly organic substance that shone from fluids secreted by an array of gasping pores. "This piece of equipment is what you might call my life's work, the culmination of tireless research spanning across decades. I call it _El Rio de Vida_!" Upon hearing its name, the so-called river of life gave a series of wet coughs before wires, whip-like tendrils, and all manner of things that lay in between gushed forth from cysts lining deformed appendages of fleshy composition while the main body shuddered and then descended until it hovered just above Orihime.

"Well?" Szayel had his arms crossed proudly over his chest, anticipating nothing but praise.

Grimmjow was ready to burn the abomination.

"Another day, I know. Time is short," the pink-headed hybrid piped up, summoning his creation's control terminal which appeared in the same odd fashion as the monstrosity itself – from the floor this time. Once booted up, his fingers danced along the keyboard and input a string of commands that ultimately resulted in a holographic display projecting out onto the air. For now, it only read…

_System online. _

_Supplementary power source: rerouted from Trauma Center_

…

_Please link EL RIO DE VIDA to an apliccable organism to perform an auto-diagnostic._

Grimmjow was really starting to miss Ichimaru's sake once he reached the last line. Risking another glance towards the wheezing contraption, he felt his stomach sink. There had been a lot of repulsive sights that he had been able to enjoy or at the very least tolerate over the course of his long life, but witnessing this machine 'link' to Orihime would surely not be one of them.

_**I can hear what you're thinking, and I'll never forgive you if you stick me in that thing. That said, wake me when it's over.**_

So much for that idea.

He fiddled with his empty pipe, sticking it back inside his mouth in an effort to calm the urge to launch a cero at the mirror girl's only chance for survival.

_Woman, you owe me for life._

Off to his side, there was the sound of someone's throat clearing.

Szayel was presently poised beside Orihime with a scalpel, waving him over with his free hand. "Can you come and hold her down? She began shaking when I tried to make an incision."

Grudgingly, Grimmjow complied and left his fantasies of razing the laboratory behind. "What're you trying to do?" he asked, adjusting his strength so that he pinned the Hollow's shoulders without crushing them down into the second dimension.

"Just a midline incision, nothing fancy. I need access to her gastric system in order to regulate the flow of reiryoku when I begin pumping it into her bloodstream. You see, she'll experience somewhat of a Pavlovian response when I fist introduce the energy. A great deal of blood will be rushing to and from her stomach which makes it the ideal area to get a reading on her status. After that, I'll attach El Rio de Vida to her abdominal cavity in addition to several other locations across her body and run a couple of diagnostics. Then, it's as simple as turning on the faucet," Szayel explained and positioned the blade beneath Orihime's chest.

"Is that going to be enough?" his would-be nurse inquired. "She's got thick skin."

"I'm well aware of that. This instrument is specifically designed to slice through hierro using a cutting surface that constantly vibrates at a high spiritual frequency," he expounded, moving to demonstrate only to stop short just after the initial penetration.

Grimmjow watched as the surgeon prematurely withdrew his tool and blinked dumbly, laying tentative fingers over a growing red blotch on his uniform. "Oh," came the stunned exclamation. Staggering backwards, Szayel undid the buttons to his coat and pulled the garment apart to reveal an open wound at the exact same point on his body as the cut he had made on his patient.

The Espada locked eyes knowingly.

"Well now, this is as curious as it is problematic. I assume this means that her special abilities have already manifested."

"How much time does that give us, then?" The elder of the two swabbed his thumb through the girl's crimson blood and deposited the ichor onto his tongue. There was no mistaking the Hollow taste that it carried

"Plenty. She's progressing at a relatively slow pace, so it shouldn't cause us any trouble. I'm only concerned that I will receive the same treatment that I plan to administer. Spilling my internal organs is not high on my list of things to do today, you know."

I'll make sure to write that on your grave, Grimmjow thought bitterly.

He turned his attention back to Orihime, his heightened senses picking up a slight increase in her pulse. A woman who reflects the injuries she sustains back to her attacker, huh? How fitting for someone like her. "What do you think the extent of her power is?"

"I can't say. Not yet, anyway," Szayel said, concentrating on regenerating his torn sinew. "All we've observed is a single instance in which she and I simultaneously received the same physical results of an action that I had directed onto her. It's far too early to hypothesize about an ability so abstract in nature. Bring her back tomorrow, and I will be happy to conduct extensive testing to see whether or not there is any more to it than what we have already seen."

Grimmjow nodded. "Fair enough. I'll take it from here now since you're too afraid to get wet," he asserted, touching a single claw to the partially healed laceration under his ward's sternum.

The master physician was skeptical. "Do you even know what a midline incision is? And I hope you don't plan on using your-" his words caught in his throat when the hooked nail slit a trail down to the girl's pelvis with an ease and precision that could be likened only to the scalpel he held between his fingers. But it was far from finished; the talon then cut four more incisions, all of them branching out from the midline.

"It's better this way," was the gruff explanation. "Peeling back her upper and lower quadrants will give us a good view of her guts, and it makes it so that we don't have'ta deal with her regenerating around your machine.

Procuring the drainage device to clear the multiple fluids from the breach in Orihime's anatomy, Szayel was visibly impressed. "How did you know to do that?"

"I taught myself about medicine the same way Musashi did with warfare. It was just one of the things I learned while I was caged up with nothing but Starrk and a rack of books," Grimmjow mumbled sourly, checking along his body to discover that he now sported a set of familiarly arranged scratches on the top layer of his hierro.

There was an interruption in the flow of conversation. "I see… Who exactly is this Musashi fellow?"

"Don't worry about it."

And with that, the procedure went underway.

Taking up a position behind El Rio de Vida's control panel, Szayel presided over the operation while Grimmjow retired to the peanut gallery and pretended not to be revolted when the nauseating contrivance invaded its target's body with a host of tubes and writhing tentacles. It may have gone against his nature, but he was actually glad that Orihime was unconscious. No one should have to experience this.

After several minutes, the sight of her body contorting in displeasure against the onslaught of alien implements became so repulsive that he averted his eyes toward the holographic display and began reading the scrolling text beside her vital signs.

_System has linked successfully to the following structures:_

_-Celiac Artery_

_-Pulmonary Artery_

_-Spinal Chord_

_-Stomach_

_-Ulnar Artery_

_Subject's condition: Optimal_

_-Anesthesia administered._

_-Anti-regenerative agent administered. _

_Reiryoku transference: SET TO STANDBY _

_Awaiting your desired plan for skill distribution…_

"Oi," Grimmjow hailed, causing the surgery to pause. "What does this thing mean by 'skill distribution'?"

Szayel rested his hands overtop the keyboard and donned a scholarly expression. "It's as it sounds, but I suppose that's not very enlightening. How should I explain this… Ah, would you like for me to show you her current capabilities as a spiritual entity?"

"Sure."

A few dozen keys were punched, and back on the screen, the vitals were pushed to the side to make way for a sprawling list of data.

_Average yield strength of bone: __**3114.09 MPa **_

_Average bone durability under shear stress: __**3602.64 MPa**_

…

_Potential rate of mitosis experienced during regeneration: __**4,000 – 5,500 divisions per cell per second.**_

"I don't need random trivia, damn it. Just give me an assessment of her basic abilities compared to an average C or low B-class Hollow," Grimmjow clamored

"Fine, fine. I just thought that you would better appreciate her if you saw the approximate statistics. Her defensive traits really are extraordinary for a newborn."

Another flurry of typing passed, and the list was replaced by a lesser variant depicting the highlights of its predecessor.

_Skeletal durability: Exemplary_

_Potential hierro durability: High _

_Muscle density: Below Average_

_Overall physical strength: Low_

_Reiryoku/Reiatsu: Error! Insufficient Stability! Subject's internal and external energies fluctuating at a recorded minimum intensity of C-class levels and a maximum intensity of low A-class. _

_Regeneration: Exemplary_

_Speed (base): Average_

_Speed (sonido): Above Average_

_Energy manipulation: Average_

_Aptitude for improvement: High_

"These are the innate characteristics of her basic Hollow form," Szayel relayed. "And as you may have realized by now, they won't progress naturally. Because she will be undergoing a catalyzed evolution – and especially because she is unconscious – she won't be developing her strengths through the trial and error of living in the wild. In Layman's terms, her body will be affected at random. However, it is a very simple thing to control this irregular apportioning of power and shape her as we see fit. That is what is known as skill distribution. It was first conceptualized by a Shinigami who created a process quite similar to my Hollow synthesis program which he used to grow a vice-captain from scratch. I hate to admit it, but without obtaining his notes through Aizen-sama, I wouldn't have progressed as far as making El Rio de Vida. Now, if only I had gotten his name…"

Ignoring the later deviation in the scientist's lecture, Grimmjow quickly digested what he had just heard. "Makes sense. Are you ready to draw up a plan for her?"

More typing. "I am now."

"Good. There's no sense in goin' against what nature's given her, so keep her best traits high above the others. As for the rest, divide up her strength evenly between them with a little more for her speed, got it?"

It was a solid build based on what she possessed in her contemporary pre-Menos state, and the philosophy behind it was simple: make her defense her offense. When he had suffered no more than minor irritation from slicing her open, he came to realize that it wasn't the injury she received that was reflected back unto him. It was the force that caused it. And by that same principle, the opposite circumstances would make her a god on the battlefield. If she came into contact with a force that she could withstand but her opponent could not, then she could kill them without even lifting a finger.

Grimmjow couldn't help but chuckle at the idea. He was actually beginning to enjoy creating his own Frankenstein's monster. Hell, if things quieted down and he had time to kill, he may even train her to use a sword properly and turn her into a well-rounded fighter.

"Alright, it's set," Szayel called from his terminal, bringing up a number of graphs and illustrations on the display. "She's ready to receive the reiryoku transfusion. But before that, I need to ask you one _very_ important thing regarding her eligibility to undergo the standard procedure."

"Yeah? What's that?"

Stepping away from the monitor, the Octava ambled over to his counterpart, lips held taut in an uncharacteristically serious manner. "Is she of a strong mind?"

Grimmjow furrowed his brow at the question. Initially, he failed to see how that was relevant to her evolution, although that didn't last for long. He knew what Szayel was getting at.

Memories of Orihime's downward spiral into the misguided husk of her former self surfaced upon his revelation, providing him with the obvious answer.

"Nah, she snapped yesterday when Las Noches got the best of her. I found her sitting out in the rain gettin' cozy a pack of feral Hollows before Baraggan went after her and chopped her to pieces."

That was all Szayel needed to know. "Okay then, we're going to take a detour. What I'm going to do is feed her insentient reiryoku clusters that the Shinigami call mod souls to preserve her individuality so that she can reach the Menos stage. After that, she'll be temporarily moved to a location large enough to accommodate the size of a Gillian. In the meantime though, I think we should address the repercussions of taking this course of action."

"Which would be…" Grimmjow left the sentence dangling.

"There is a ninety-nine percent chance that she will retain all of her memories due to our efforts to preserve the small sliver of humanity left within her along with the lack of mental pollution one would contract from devouring living, thinking souls."

The panther King sneered. He hadn't counted on running into a setback of this magnitude. This was not good. If she kept the remnants of her past life, then there was no guarantee that she would be stable enough to use the body that he was giving her. After all, the freshest thing in her mind was the sight of her mortal shell lifeless and broken, nothing left but pale eyes and blood. That alone had rendered her comatose to the point of sleeping through everything up until El Rio de Vida doped her up on sedatives.

No, this was not going to happen.

"_I'll make it so that your heart doesn't even remember the pains of frailty and deficiency."_

That had been his promise to her. That was the payment for making him into a Vasto Lorde, and his pride demanded that he fulfill his oath at the cost of his ulterior motives if need be.

"So, what can we do about it?"

Szayel's face brightened. "Why we get to try out another experimental procedure, of course!"

Grimmjow rolled his eyes.

_Of course._

"It's called selective memory deletion, and it's conveniently integrated into El Rio de Vida's mainframe. At first, it was designed solely to investigate the past lives of Arrancar, namely you." The dirty look from his superior did not deter him in the slightest. "However, Aizen-sama wasn't keen on letting me use our limited resources for such a thing, so I was forced to modify it to allow what I affectionately call mind wiping."

Nonplussed, Grimmjow simply inclined his head to let Szayel know that he had been listening, sending him sauntering happily back to the controls where he promptly typed a slew of commands.

"There, you can now access administrative functions from the display. Everything you need to know about S.M.D. is there. And while you're taking care of that, I'll be prepping the mod souls for an I.V. drip," he passively informed his assistant, fingers moving at sonic speed as he ran the proper subroutines to supplant the rain-derived reiryoku with the aforementioned false souls.

Seeing that as all the instruction he was going to get, Grimmjow padded up to the holographic interface and stared at it blankly. Computers were not his forte, much less ones that were decades ahead of whatever was publicly available in the Living World.

_Well, here goes nothin'._

_**Might want to prepare for the worst. One wrong move and she'll probably explode.**_

…_Shut up and go back to sleep._

He jostled his sword roughly, tuning out Pantera's protests as he perused over the screen.

_Selective Memory Deletion program active._

_Touch anywhere to begin._

Easy enough. He shrugged and pressed a claw to the intangible monitor. Immediately responding to the contact, the welcoming message vanished, and over on the operating table, Orihime broke into another bout of spasms.

_System has linked successfully to the following structures:_

_-Amygdala_

_-Frontal Lobe_

_-Hippocampus_

_-Parietal Lobe_

_-Temporal Lobe_

_Downloading memories…_

…

_Download complete._

A gray window blinked into existence above a horizontal bar comprised of countless images so small that Grimmjow didn't bother trying to bring them into focus.

_Touch the slide to initiate a full replay originating from the subject's earliest memory._

_Magnification is set to 1:1_

_Adjust magnification? Yes/No_

_Play speed is set to 10x_

_Adjust play speed? Yes/No_

He selected yes for both options, using the dials that popped up afterwards to enlarge the viewscreen and raise the play speed as high as it would go. Doing the math in his head, if Orihime was sixteen years old, then he could otherwise be rooting through her head for weeks.

_Are these settings acceptable? Yes/No_

Yes.

_Settings applied._

_Touch the slide to begin._

_Then, using your finger, drag across memories to highlight them. Once highlighted, memories will be permanently removed when EL RIO DE VIDA is given the vocal command "delete"._

_Please note that S.M.D. does not erase the subject's knowledge gained through past experiences including, but not limited to, formal education. Only events are eligible for deletion. _

At least there's no risk of turning her into a drooling vegetable, Grimmjow mused as he triggered the playback.

There was a short delay, and then the text winked off before a great panorama of animated images flooded the holographic frame, rushing by at several thousand times the normal rate of human perception.

Yet, Grimmjow saw it all.

The audio was accelerated to unintelligibility, but his superhuman eyes swept comprehensively over the expedited life of Inoue Orihime and absorbed every minute detail of her days as a mortal.

From the beginning, he saw hazy recollections of her mother and father through the tears of a young child. Then came the strife of a grade school girl struggling to survive with only the paltry salary of a part-timing older brother to support her.

Blue eyes hard as steel, the demon watched day after day of falling victim to remarks made at her unusual hair color and night after night of returning home to grime and cold and improper meals. In every mirror there stood a steadily aging and progressively morose redhead looking back at him, sometimes obscured behind a false smile but mostly laid bare to only he who could view those times where she had thought herself alone.

Similar scenes came and went, some of which he recognized from the stories she had told him during their talks inside her cell. First there was the anguish of reuniting with her abusive parents and the hours spent weeping later that night. After that, the next year passed with more of the same pitiable routines, and of a sudden, her brother was fatally wounded, leaving her to cry alone out on the street.

Fast forward five more years, and that melancholy was now hidden underneath a mask of fabricated cheer. She now acted as if her past held no bearing, living normally, practicing martial arts, and studying hard. That all changed, though, with the increasingly prominent presence of a recognizable head of orange hair.

Grimmjow gave a low hiss and slowed down the play speed, catching a name in the process.

_Kurosaki Ichigo, huh?_

The slideshow of memories experienced a paradigm shift, becoming more and more centered around the life and times of the Shinigami that had once scarred the then Sexta Espada's chest. It boggled the mind, really. Who would have guessed that his Orihime had happened to be there every step of the way since the kid's birth into the world of death gods up until he became a captain-class warrior?

Something like this was enough to reinforce Grimmjow's belief that his everlasting vendetta against destiny was well justified.

Back on the screen, Inoue was just returning from invading Soul Society where he had paid witness to even more bizarre coincidences laced in with scraps of highly-valuable information. Oh, he could care less about that raven-haired girl whom he had impaled through the stomach, but those tidbits about Aizen Sousuke's grand defection on the other hand, _that_ was worth reviewing a couple more times. Regrettably, there wasn't much to go over besides a few scattered conversations and a distant massacre seen from a vantage point that had to have been at the base of a mountain. Still, he was able to piece together one thing: Aizen's Zanpakuto held the power to create illusions.

Inside his head, Gin's words came echoing back.

"_Don't let him show you his Shikai again."_

_No problem, Fox-Face._

Grinning smugly, Grimmjow was about ready to wrap up when the sound of choked sobs gave him pause. That tear-stricken filter over the imaging had returned, distorting whatever memory was active into the cloudy wont that he had learned to associate with Orihime's periodic descents into misery. But it was strange this time, though. He thought that she had moved well past the days where she reached this degree of suffering. Not even when she was attacked by her newborn Hollow of a brother had she despaired as much as she was now. No, the severe emotional interference was comparable more to the prolonged hell he had seen from her years spent drifting along in the isolation of an orphanage before her relatives had supplied her with her own apartment.

He frowned at that, reducing the memory's speed to normal. What could have possibly caused the old Inoue Orihime to come back?

The reply came swiftly in the form of a defeated confession.

"I can't do it. I'm no good. It's the very end, and I'm still acting like this," a feminine voice lamented through the garbled audio.

Grimmjow shook his head, letting his neck muscles slacken so that his eyes were to the floor. She was reverting to that way of thinking again? Honestly, he imagined that her normally vibrant chocolate orbs looked the same then as they had in her reflection after her sibling passed, broken and dull like a doll's eyes.

_I really am doing this girl a favor._

Bringing his face level with the recording once more, he resumed listening to her pour her heart out to what resembled a stationary orange blob.

"Kurosaki-kun, you know I had a lot of things I wanted to do. I wanted to be a teacher. I also wanted to be an astronaut and make my own cake shop. I wanted to go to the bakery and say 'I want one of everything'… Oh, I wish I could live life five times over. Then, I'd be born in five different places, and I'd stuff myself with different food from around the world. I'd live five different lives with five different occupations, and then, for those five times…I'd fall in love with the same person."

And he saw that mask worn over her emotions crumble completely, bringing everything full circle. Thus he stopped the procession of memories.

Was that it?

_**What did you expect? You knew since that first visit to her cell that she was responsible for her own shortcomings. A hard life had placed buckets of lead upon her shoulders, but she had been the one to weigh herself down to the point of hopelessness by filling them with her tears. And wasn't it for that very reason that you decided to bring her here to this place? Didn't you already know that ripping out her heart wouldn't be enough to save her from that downward spiral of her self-deprecating machinations?**_

_Yeah, what of it? I brought her here because I saw what looked like the will to survive past that sick puppy face of hers. Turns out, though, she'll give up living in a heartbeat when things get tough; you heard how she was talking about herself like she was already dead. I bet the same goes for the other way around too. If it didn't, then she would've never latched onto me like she did. _

_**I don't doubt it. Nevertheless, don't get worked up about it. I know you loathe that kind of morbid demoralization.**_

_It's not about what I think of her._

_**Really? Let me ask you something, then. Would you have let her enter reincarnation if you had realized earlier that she was so unstable? Or were you planning to break her down and rebuild her with none of her old flaws anyway?**_

Grimmjow's demeanor grew solemn as he pondered Pantera's counterargument, scrolling through all of Orihime's experiences that had taken place since her arrival to Hueco Mundo and carefully choosing certain events for later deletion.

_That's right. Reduce everything to nothing, and you can do anything. I'll make her forget her damn name if I have to so long as she can raise her head off the ground. _

_**I admire your conviction. Is that seriously the drive of a dragon working to repay what he owes to an ant?**_

_Quit being a fuckin' smartass. You know exactly why I'm going out of my way for her. She gave me a new life; I'm returning the favor, simple as that. _

_**Under normal circumstances, I would believe you. However, you did go and say that she reminded you of yourself, didn't you? Even a man whose honor is based solely on obligations and pride would be hard-pressed to overlook a kindred spirit.**_

_Tch. Must've been having a fever dream when I said that. The only similarity between me and her is the way we were murdered, but that's it. Not once have I ever resigned myself to death or made my own regrets._

_**No, I suppose you haven't… **_

The internal conversation drew to an unresolved conclusion, leaving Grimmjow to wonder why his weapon's soul had even initiated it in the first place. Tiptoeing around an issue was not his style, and for all the delicacy involved in his various contentions, his wielder still caught on to what he was trying to avoid saying. He was implying that he was acting irrationally, and that wasn't something that could be easily disregarded. Being forged from a shard of his Adjuchas form's mask, the original, sentient Pantera embodied his primal instincts. If he thought that he was making a reckless move by unnecessarily involving himself with Orihime, then that meant he was shunning the sense of judgment which had kept him alive for so long.

Then again, he had done the same when he had risked his life to become a Vasto Lorde.

_Oh well, sometimes you just have to do what you want. _

In the back of his mind, a heavy, feline voice groused what sounded like 'impulsive'.

Grimmjow snickered, returning to the task at hand by marking the kiss he had forced upon his charge and the strenuous rejection of Starrk's amputated arm for use in testing the S.M.D. program.

In his typical fashion, the next measure came without hesitance. "Delete," he voiced coldly, observing as Orihime jolted in her restraints like an electric shock had lanced up her spine.

She thrashed about for a split second and then fell motionless once more, coinciding with the disappearance of the images within the slide that represented the previously selected memories.

"Vitals stable," he heard Szayel report. "Try to limit the number of times you activate the sequence, though. There's no guarantee that her system won't shut down if you keep stressing it."

Rather than being coerced into caution, Grimmjow found that last bit interesting. Obviously, El Rio de Vida was causing Orihime some malaise, but was it actually harming her? He roved over the constant stream of the machine's status data on the far left of the interface, looking for any irregularities. There were none. Did that mean that her power only reacted to injuries caused directly by living creatures?

Curiouser and curiouser, the amnesia technician contemplated as he commenced highlighting memories en masse after being egged on by his trial's success.

Working at a speed that most would call reckless, it was not long until a pattern emerged. Instances similar to Orihime's retaliation against Baraggan, her subsequent quasi-rescue, and the fight with Loly and Menoly were given a pass. Simultaneously, cases like the long nights spent wallowing along the verge of ruin inside her cell and the sight of her mangled body lying dead in front of her were to be forgotten forever. Grimmjow was purposefully preserving situations which signified her or his own personal strength while trimming away the times of powerlessness and desolation. For everything in between, he meddled with at will before trailing back to her profession of love where he momentarily halted his spree.

This was the boundary, the rope securing the weight that kept her on the ground, the estuary where her ebbing and flowing tide of misery met that deep-rooted fear of loss born from her brother's death. In order to rid her of these bonds, to set her free, the rope needed to be cut, and the river needed to be dammed.

Kurosaki was what chained her to her greatest fear.

Grimmjow knew how it worked; to part with the one you love is to entrust a piece of your heart with them. It is assurance that no matter how much time or distance comes between two souls that they remain intertwined, and it was Orihime's greatest weakness. She had attached herself to something corruptible, something that could be destroyed. If the Kurosaki boy were to have died, then the repercussions would have torn her heart to shreds as opposed to its mercifully painless removal by his hands. Indeed, she had given so much to him that she had inadvertently left herself with nothing. Loving him had been a foolish gamble. After all, fusion was more dangerous than fission.

Reaching for the slide, a grim hand of unfeeling charity highlighted those words spoken under the twilight of her halcyon days.

But Grimmjow could not end it there. Love was a more persistent disease than that, and it was only the direst symptom of her infectious dread. More was required to see to it that she persevered through her entry into the afterlife's abyss and laid claim to her newfound strength. He realized then, everything, everything had to disappear to numb her pain. The good times and the bad, the tears and the laughter, all of it had to be left behind just like it had with him.

Pantera was right. That earlier pity he had felt was not meant for mere similarities he found in her disposition. Inoue Orihime was a kindred spirit whose path down from grace, like his before, was paved with abandon and heavy sacrifice.

So it was decided. To this girl, who for the sake of power, he had dragged into hell, the Lord of calamity would selflessly lend his efforts to comfort the unconditional surrender of her humanity. Impassioned by that sentiment, every single memory from her troubled childhood to the idle façade that followed was set to be nullified.

_**I'd like to hear your reasoning behind all this. You separate her from everything she held dear by turning her into a Hollow so that she can overcome her sorrow. Then, you go and ensure her survival by having her evolve at the cost of retaining most of what troubled her in the first place. And now, you're frying her brain to get rid of the pain of remembrance. That's some roundabout, backwards fucking logic right there. **_

Grimmjow took no offense at Pantera's criticism as he sidled beside the operating table and studied Orihime – a practice that he was rapidly making a habit out of.

_I don't care, and neither should you. No one can touch me anymore, so don't sweat about the consequences of my choices. _

_**My life is tied to yours. We are partners.**_

_Yeah, I know, but I'm sticking by what I said. Why should you give a damn if I take the long way around shaping a spear out of rusted steel?_

_**Because you're modeling that spear after yourself! Why can't you see that?**_

_I do. I figured it out once I decided to crush her last remaining thing of value. _

The living weapon was stunned silent.

_She and I are alike, you said so yourself. Isn't it natural to take her down the same road as I walk? I'm even being considerate and leavin' her with nothing, so no one else can take anything from her. You can't say that about the bastard that killed me way back when, now can you?_

Vexation delayed Pantera's reply.

…_**Just promise me that you won't let this get out of hand.**_

_Hey, who do you think you're talking to?_

_**I wonder…**_

The Arrancar's sword then removed its consciousness outside the range of his inner voice, preventing the start of what would have erupted into a shouting match.

"Fucking…" How half of his own lower jaw sometimes managed to get a rise out of him he would never know.

Facing Orihime, Grimmjow let out a meditative breath and only faintly registered it when Szayel was alerting him that he had finished up prepping the I.V. "Woman," he said tiredly, "you'd better do some impressive shit with your life." And he meant that. From deep within the black void where his heart once beat, he really meant that.

Parting foil-like tresses of hair, his palm found her forehead.

_I hope you hate me. I hope you come after me with a vengeance that I can be proud of and try to surpass me. Get strong, little newborn, because I won't make it easy for you to earn your place in this world. As of now, you're my property until you can prove to me that you deserve to receive my payment for your service. Good luck, and remember that fate's a bitch._

He touched two fingers to his head in a mock salute and commanded with all the remorseless authority of a King of the cannibal wastes, "Delete."

Grimmjow heard the biomechanical menace activate for the second time, and from below the soothing hand he extended out to her, Orihime's head sweltered with unnatural heat. Next came the tremors, less violent than before, but enough to warrant a firmer hold. And then, her convulsions ceased, and a siren sounded.

"There's been an error," Szayel quickly informed his senior officer, traipsing up to the operating table. "One memory was unable to be erased."

_Impossible._

"Which one?" Grimmjow demanded furiously.

Szayel bristled under the smoldering glare he had been suddenly targeted by. "I can't tell for certain," he said calmly. "It's too out of focus to describe. I could only make out a distinct orange color amongst the surroundings, but regardless, I strongly advise you not to-"

"Delete."

For what would have been the third time, Orihime quaked as the plasmic wires pervaded her brain.

Yet again, the alarm blared.

Grimmjow gnashed his fangs. What was this? Had he underestimated her mental resilience? Or was this more of Kurosaki's doing? Even when he was all but nonexistent to her, why had a strain of his viral influence refused to be cured? In theory, effacing every recollection she had of him would be enough to purge him from her mind. Damn him. Damn that child. Were he not an insect by comparison, Grimmjow would reinstitute his wrath towards him in a heartbeat.

Once more, with feeling.

"Delete!" the demon roared.

Orihime shuddered, her weakened nervous system laboring to resist succumbing to the foreign oppression.

Teeth grinding against the stem of his pipe, Grimmjow loomed above her, arms crossed in anticipation.

This time when the throes subsided, there was nary a whisper of failure. Kurosaki was no more, and the love that had been entrusted to him was lost in obscurity.

* * *

Szayel breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well…that was dangerous."

Grimmjow grunted apathetically, disinterested. "How are her vitals?"

Repositioning himself back behind his console, the avant-garde scientist gave a positive gesture. "Green for now. And just so you know, I'm never letting you take part in one my experiments again."

"Careful, I might accidentally flood your lab with the river I cry."

Szayel sighed again and raised his arms haplessly. "I don't know why I even bother," he grumbled. "Anyway, I've decided on transferring her to a larger room first instead of pausing the procedure right before she enters the Gillian stage. Is there anything you have left to do before I begin the reiryoku transfusion?"

If Grimmjow gave his answer a second thought, he didn't show it. "No, but I do want to know one thing."

"What is it?"

"How will she evolve into a Gillian? Feedin' her an infinite number of souls won't make up for the hundreds of Hollow bodies she'll need to combine with."

Szayel tittered. "I kept those synthetic, brainless sacs of flesh for a reason," he patronized and ignored any further questioning in favor of addressing his masterpiece. "El Rio de Vida!" The apparatus purred in response. "Transport the subject to room C16 and fetch about four hundred or so non-operational specimens from cold storage for grafting, will you." Another low buzz. "Good, thank you. Don't wait up for me either. Go ahead and start with her once you've ascertained the necessary materials."

A series of quavering chirps filled the chamber before the seemingly all-purpose device secreted a mucous membrane that enveloped around Orihime and secured her to its central bulb. When it later saw her fit to move, El Rio de Vida ascended back into the hole in the ceiling from which it had first appeared and could be heard traveling through an unseen network of specialized conduits.

Seeing this all play out, Grimmjow was seriously contemplating whether or not he should run the S.M.D. program on himself as well.

_**Okay…that was gross.**_

_Looks like we're finally on the same page again._

He glanced over at Szayel who remained as impassive to the bizarre as ever. "So that's it? That thing's gonna take care of the rest?"

"Yes. Convenient, isn't it?" the twisted inventor responded, waggling his eyebrows in self-satisfaction while he sashayed to the door. "I plan on documenting the entire production, care to join me?"

Grimmjow hastily declined the invitation. He needed a break from this ordeal, maybe get some sake, lay in bed with Sun-Sun, Apache, and fuck it, he'd throw Mila-Rose in there too, and…

An unwelcome realization dawned on him in the midst of his fantasy.

_Fuck!_

His Zanpakuto was laughing raucously as he cursed his slip of mind.

"Nah, Aizen wanted to see me, and I don't want him getting off his ass and looking for me himself," he groaned, dashing his hedonistic desires for another day.

With a noticeable sulk to his normally regal posture, Grimmjow brushed past a baffled Szayel and traversed a small ways through the labyrinth of corridors. After the color pink was effectively removed from his sight, he switched over to his preferred method of travel which consisted of him releasing his reiatsu and vaporizing everything between himself and the light given off by the palace dome's artificial sunrise.

There he waited, feeling slightly better now that he was out of the laboratory's narrow confines. But his reprieve was bound to be short-lived. He had sent up a red flag, and he wondered how long it would take for his keeper to find him.

Pantera initiated a countdown.

**Five…four…three…two…**

A punch of sonido tore the air beside him, signaling the predicted arrival of his old adversary.

**Damn, almost had it.**

"Aizen-sama wishes to speak with you," Ulquiorra droned, doing well to hide the annoyance that had built up over the course of his three-hour-long search.

"No kidding?" Grimmjow scratched the back of his head in feigned ignorance. "What for?" he asked, stalking up to the other Espada and flicking aside his jacket's neck to get a good view at the freshly-inked number five that now marred his chalk white chest.

_Ah, seeing this makes all that bullshit worthwhile._

"Have you already forgotten that you grievously wounded one of the top five Espada?" that dejected monotone reminded as Ulquiorra began the long trek towards Las Noches' throne room, immensely relieved to see that the Primera was compliantly on his heels.

"Right~," Grimmjow chuckled. "Must've been too caught up having fun with that woman Aizen gave me."

The newly-demoted Quinta stayed his feet abruptly, forcing the man he was escorting to make a considerable effort not to crash into him. He then spun about slowly, regarding him with an expression that made his smirk drop and his blood boil. "Why do you hold such an interest in that _trash_?" he queried, cognizant of how Grimmjow's hands contorted to half-formed fists upon hearing the final word of his inquiry.

"Bastard," Grimmjow seethed. "You wanna run that by me one more time?"

Ulquiorra was undaunted by the promise of death buried beneath his modest threat, spotting a rare opportunity to nettle the Vasto Lorde. "Does that word still anger you even now?" He resumed walking, turning his back to a creature who could quite possibly be the bringer of his demise. "Or is it merely stoking that petty grudge of yours? I wonder, why do you continue to resent me after so long?"

"You know damn well why!" A torrent of caustic reiatsu lashed out, gripping Ulquiorra by the fabric of his soul and suspending him before the source of the outcry. It was there that Grimmjow further constricted him with his overbearing spirit and peered into gems of unpolished juniper that would not yield an iota of concern were he to clamp his jaws around his throat.

"Little Adjuchas, you're pretty talkative today," he spat, pressuring his prey until he unleashed his own reiatsu and broke free of the stranglehold.

"Enough," Ulquiorra stated neutrally, readying the Caja Negacion that he held in his pocket. "Even after one thousand years, you're still a child."

"And you still like to fuck with the wrong people. Getting shown to your place once didn't teach you that, huh? Want me to do it again?" Grimmjow propositioned with a grin that dripped bloodlusted madness.

"Perhaps after you have received your own punishment by Aizen-sama's hands."

Ulquiorra didn't know what he was saying anymore. His usually stalwart, icy persona always faltered in the presence of his rival, and today, that was excessively apparent to him. Frustration, he reasoned.

No small portion of Grimmjow's rage had evaporated from that last retort, having been superseded by confusion. "What the hell are you going on about? You think I won't kill ya?"

"You misunderstand," Ulquiorra said, striding across the desert sands and putting an end to the conflict. "I simply do not care if you do. Rather, I know that you will try until you succeed because I myself was the first victim of your bestial tenacity."

* * *

* A kiseru is a traditional Japanese pipe. They're pretty bitchin'.

By the way, check out my one-shot Now I Am Become Death. It's a sort of prologue for this story.

Author's Note:

**God damn… I finally got this done. **

**Anyway, yeah, lots'a plot development this chapter. I had originally planned to have more action, but that'll have to wait until next time. Moving on, this is where CMF begins seriously deviating from canon. Of course, everything that would still logically occur within the normal Bleach storyline will happen here, but it won't be quite the same.**

**No excerpts this chapter either, sorry.**

**Have any questions? Message me.**

**And don't forget to REVIEW!**


	7. The Undead

Black and white. Everything in this world was always black and white—a dichromatic wasteland where color arose only within spilled blood.

Maybe, that was why he liked it so much.

Padding across the endless dunes of Hueco Mundo's surface, a young boy with hair indistinguishable from the silver moonlight steadily made his rounds. On his back, a sack of fruit and a small canteen bobbed in unison with his short strides, giving him the appearance of a wayward traveler that had somehow managed to wander into the land of vengeful spirits.

But this was no lost child. This was the newly-promoted commander of a budding insurrection that would soon span across the three worlds.

Ichimaru Gin's smile thinned as he continued traipsing along the sea of sand. He was twenty-one years old now, but one could hardly tell unless they observed him closely. The wide gait with which he walked and the vulpine features that were sure to remain unwavering even when painted red, both channeled such unsettling confidence that no common youth could be capable of possessing. Indeed, much like his Zanpakuto, his true nature was kept hidden inside of a deceptively compact shell.

Because that was the way Aizen had wanted it.

For his first few independent visits to cannibal badlands, his lord and master had instructed him to do his best to remain off the radar of any and all potential threats. "If any unnecessary conflicts were to arise now, then they could potentially impact our plans for diplomacy in the future," Aizen had said—probably said, anyway. Well…it had been something along those lines, Gin figured. He really was no good at deciphering the man's eloquent eastern dialect.

In fact, he was so poor at it that he was beginning to wonder why he had been trusted with a position that so vitally hinged on communication in the first place. Every contact he had encountered for the past several days had either spoken broken Japanese born from the capital or the Hollows' mother tongue, and that had put him on the other side of an irritatingly thick language barrier. Needless to say, his job was not going as smoothly as he would have liked.

"Shānai," he muttered under his breath. It couldn't be helped. Aizen was busy running around the outer rings of Rukongai field-testing his research, and Tousen was probably off somewhere scheming under a waterfall, so it had fallen upon him to gather reports from their masked militia. Or at least that was what he was _supposed_ to be doing. Instead, he had long since taken up interest in the local scenery after climbing up from the forest with little more than a few scraps of useless information. Baraggan was still sitting idly on his throne, the other Vasto Lordes remained unaccounted for, and the Espada were exactly as Aizen had left them. Whoever said that rebellion was glamorous?

_**He's testing you. **_

Gin slowed his pace and prodded the wakizashi fastened to his obi boyishly. That much he knew. After all, it was only natural that he would have to go through years of grunt work before obtaining any knowledge usable against the aspiring god. He was fine with that. Actually, he preferred it. In the meantime, he was being given plenty of opportunities to hone his skills by subjugating Hollows and assassinating prominent Shinigami. Not only that, but it gave him time to put things into perspective.

Already, he could no longer see the ground from atop his ladder of sacrifices, and he still had yet to finish climbing. Aizen wouldn't allow it. The man was elevated too far above his current standing for him to reach without shattering more and more lives and piling up more and more atrocities. Until that time came when he could stand beside him, he just had to settle with having his feet on the edge of his shadow, running through the ceaseless hail of blood and politics and ideals and all of the other elements that had first ignited his vendetta.

And he did not mind that one bit. Rather, he enjoyed it.

Revenge had become a form of pleasure for him, a numbing, virulent ecstasy that rendered him apathetic towards the pieces of himself cast off in pursuit of his retribution. Just as a snake does not mourn the loss of its skin, he too never looked back on what had been required to propel himself further. There was simply no other way he could succeed against a creature such as Aizen Sousuke. It couldn't be helped.

Sliding down the slip face of a large dune into the valley that laid below, Ichimaru Gin just kept smiling as the world moved in step with each swing of his sword. He then set down his baggage, digging through the provisions within until he procured a dried persimmon. It had been a wise decision to leave a few sunning out around the many pavilions of Fifth Division in the event of a sudden departure.

Lifting the dehydrated fruit up to his mouth, the novice revolutionary lazily grasped Shinsou's hilt with his free hand and drew the blade in such a way that the tip of the God Spear was pointed downward before taking a bite.

There was a faint crunch accompanied by a piercing screech while a shower of crimson-violet splattered against Gin's lips. A pack of opportunists had long ago sniffed him out, masking their reiatsu well but radiating volumes of killing intent that could have been sensed from half the world away. Amateurs. They had a lot to learn from him.

The young Shinigami drove his weapon further into the failed ambusher's skull, putting an end to its hopeless struggle just as more of its kin rose from the sand. He licked the corners of his mouth clean and anticipated their movements wordlessly. The big ones always came first, having been gifted with supplementary physical strength in place of a brain that could function tactically. Knowing this, Gin easily vaulted over the lunge of the towering behemoth coming from his right, twisting through the air and using his circular momentum to carve a passage from the beast's mask to its dorsal region.

He landed with a soft squish on top of the wet sand, not bothering to shift into a stance. Meanwhile, the remaining Hollows were circling him, cautious now that he had displayed some skill and chattering about in that fluid language of theirs. He took this as a cue to resume eating.

Then all at once, they rushed him only to find themselves run through with his Shikai in lightning fast succession, never for an instant witnessing the rhythm of his chewing falter.

"Try me again in a hundred years when the lot of ya make it back here," Gin chuckled, chunks of half-eaten fruit falling upon the ichor beneath his feet as he appreciated the warmth given off by the gore coating his skin. No one had ever bothered to tell him that Hueco Mundo was freezing cold. But then again, the realm of lost souls could have been the temperature of the sun and he would have worn the stains of slaughter nonetheless. Always, he would wait hours, a whole day even, to cleanse himself of blood after completing a mission despite Aizen's persisting admonishments. It was the only statement he could make in retaliation to his servitude and his only trophy in a line of work that yielded neither reward nor notice.

Gin wiped his sword on his shihakushou and slid it back into its sheathe before shouldering his cargo once more. The time for sightseeing was over. He would have to get a move on now. The scent of death was bound to attract more predators, and even if very few Hollows of notable strength dwelled on the surface, he still had to act under orders lest his status of Commander be revoked. Somehow, the Vice-Captain of the Fifth would know if he had played around too much.

He went over his list of assigned tasks in his head as he broke into a sprint heading down the valley, mentally marking off which objectives had already been cleared. Not many were left, he discovered. The scouts had all been given a head count and consulted. Well, that was how he was going to phrase it in his official report anyhow. Some of them had ridiculed his Kansai accent and paid the price for it while others were just plain unintelligible. After that, he had gone and visited several adobe settlements scattered across the barren terrain in search of natural Arrancar for purpose of recruitment. The problem with that was while there was always a chance of perfect hybridization for a Hollow that had removed its own mask, it was extremely slim. So he was instead receiving a great deal of so-called pseudo-Arrancar to be swayed by promises of power and prestige for use as fodder against the Shinigami…whenever he got a hold of someone who could translate Japanese.

Damn, this whole thing was turning into a farce, he thought bitterly. What was left to do was nothing more than going inside of Aizen's hidden field base, collecting status reports from the Espada, and checking up on the detention block. Standard administrative work. Boring and useless. However, now that he was mulling it over, there had been word of a couple of new detainees, hadn't there? Two Hollows so special that Aizen was willing to lock them up for over a hundred years so as to preserve them for that masterpiece he was so diligently crafting. Maybe this would turn out to be interesting after all.

Ichimaru progressed down the gorge until he reached a small outcropping of crystalline foliage, ducking under the quartz-like branches and halting in the center of an unnatural clearing. There, he approached the center of the expanse, taking a moment to listen to the desert wind whistling through the trees before touching his Zanpakuto to the ground.

In immediate response, the air shimmered and the cloaking Kido surrounding an unobtrusive, concealed staircase momentarily dispersed for the briefest of moments as Gin vanished into the sand.

This was only one of many entrances into the colossal subterranean compound that Aizen used as base of operations during his stays in Hueco Mundo. The structure itself, nothing special when viewed from above ground, was actually the excavated remains of an ancient palace carved out of bedrock. Thousands of years ago, it had served as the edifice of the previous emperor of the surface. But now, the entirety of the castle, spanning from the outskirts of the Hollow Kingdom to all the way under Baraggan's throne in Las Noches, lay forgotten after millennia of sandstorms had enshrined it beneath the arid wilderness.

Upon entry into the makeshift garrison, Gin was instantly bombarded by a slew of multilingual greetings and bows. Besieging him: a thoroughfare of highly-evolved Hollows and Arrancar that inhabited whichever random area it was that he had descended into. A quick look around told him that it was the common residential block—good for accessing the prison ward but bad for accosting any of the Espada. Their suites were an unholy distance away as was the meeting room.

Gin frowned and kicked at the floor. He then ran his eyes searchingly along the gathered mass of Aizen's servants, his nose crinkling slightly at heady scent of fear that was radiating outwards from them. Was he really that imposing? Sure, he was well-known to toy with the occasional unfortunate individual—sometimes even after death—or psychologically, rarely physically, torture for the fun of it when he got bored. Did that really deserve such petrified veneration from these soul-devouring monsters who hardly knew him?

Apparently, the answer was yes, he concluded as more and more of the creatures shied away from him. That was going to make sending a messenger to the Espada much more difficult than it should have been, but he would be lying if he said he didn't find it pleasing.

Finally, though, after navigating through a maze of lowered heads and wary hisses, he found a saving grace in the form of Aaroniero Arrur…Arroro…what the hell was his name again? Ah, well, whatever.

"Donai ya nen, Aaron-han?" Gin hailed jovially, stalking up to the Septima Espada with his usual spindly swagger and catching the dual-persona's attention by shooting him a mock salute.

He had never seen two floating heads look so confused.

When no reply came after a full minute of staring, Gin was already figuring out how to sneak a koi into the hybrid's tank the next time he had his fluid replaced. "Kore, na, wakarehen, naa?" he asked, downtrodden.

Aaroniero Arruruerie examined him in puzzlement, hesitantly opening their mouths and answering, "Yes."

By this time, Ichimaru was already ten steps in the other direction. Honestly, if it wasn't soldiers that scampered away as if one look from him would rend the life from them, then it was that damned regional disparity. And it wasn't even that difficult either. He could make sense of the Tokyo dialect well enough during the sparse occasions when he paid careful attention. Bloody non-native speakers, he spat inaudibly. His patience wearing thin, this negative train of thought was building up steam until the gods saw fit to reward his efforts with the sound of an angel's choir.

"You're looking frustrated, Ichi-kun. What's the matter?" a silky-sweet voice cooed from high above his head.

Gin paused midway through wondering how two areas so close together could develop such nonsensically different styles of speech and looked up to see a cascading river of seafoam green draped over a face so cherubic that one might liken it to a child's. "Ain't a cause to be frettin' over, Nel-yan," he replied slowly so as to give the Tercera time to translate what he was saying. "I was just 'bout ready to pull my hair out over tryin' to find someone who could understand me is all. But hey, I'm just peachy now that the powers that be saw fit to bring two of 'em to me."

A sympathetic hum sounded in the back of Nelliel's throat while she unclasped her hand from the bronze-skinned Segunda standing indifferently next to her and crouched down beside Gin. "Well, I'd hate to see that since I happen to like your hair. So if there's anything you need, you can count on me, Ichi-kun."

Gin's smile returned in full-force and he made a tisking noise through his teeth. "About that name, Nel-yan. That'd be Ichimaru-sama to ya now," he corrected with just the right amount of seriousness put into his tone to throw the woman off. "Aizen-Fukutaicho's gone and promoted me up beside Tousen."

"We know," came the smooth, feminine baritone of Tia Harribel. "Mi Amor simply has no concern for status."

Nelliel pouted childishly, glancing up at her lover with mock hurt shimmering in her hazel orbs, and Gin swore that he saw the muscles in the blonde's cheeks tug in such a manner that they would produce a smile but he couldn't be sure. The whole exchange was making him feel oddly out of place.

"Nevermind, then," Gin said, abruptly realizing that he was completely removed from his normal element of causing terror and unease in those who conversed with him. This sense was only further amplified when that longing expression rotated back his way seconds later. Shortly thereafter, a pair of fingers coated in drool swabbed over his face without any prior warning or regard for the numerous consequences that might arise from doing so.

"You've gotten blood on you," the less-distinguished of the two ascended Hollows chastised as she polished her commander's visage with her sleeve. "And you know how much I hate to see reasonable people lowering themselves to do battle with beasts," she went on, her tone gradually darkening. "You killed them, didn't you?"

Ichimaru deadpanned, narrow slits momentarily exposing dual slivers of azure. "It was an act o' self-preservation," came the blunt defense.

There was a pregnant silence until Nelliel rested her hand atop Gin's head. "If that's truly the case…then I can forgive you _this_ time," she solemnly reconciled, planting a chaste kiss on his nose.

Outside of notice, the other female Espada rolled her eyes at the ensuing reaction. Never a dull moment to be had in the company of the Tercera. "Are you quite finished with the theatrics?" Harribel asked wearily. "I believe Ichimaru-sama had actual need of us."

"Ah, yeah," Gin mumbled absentmindedly, failing to process that he had indeed just been spit-shined, and had there been a hint of a threat mixed in there too? These kinds of things were what repressed memories were born from.

Harribel was watching him expectantly.

"Right, anyways," he started up again. "Aizen-Fukutaicho was wonderin' how everything was holding up down here and if anyone's come out recently lookin' like they can take the top spot." Mischievously, he brought his eyes on level with Nelliel's, boring into them with a disconcerting amount of intensity. "Ain't much of an Espada without a Primera, ya know?"

A single golden brow arched towards the ceiling. Who was this kid trying to fool, Harribel pondered darkly. He had shown plenty of times in the past that he was tapping through Aizen's grapevine to receive information that was otherwise meant to be in the minds of but a few. But hell, with his promotion, now he _was_ the grapevine. Not even a child would fall for this kind of obvious ploy to divulge news of their two latest wards, she inwardly scoffed. Then, she noticed that her companion was fidgeting rather nervously.

She felt like banging her head against the wall. "Nelliel, it's—"

"Say," Gin interrupted slyly, ducking his head under the distressed woman's jaw in an effort to follow the descending retreat of her gaze, "is it true that Aizen-Fukutaicho went out with Tousen and captured not only Soul-Splitter but the Lorde Slayer too?" A bony finger shot out and tilted her chin upward. "Hm?"

"You know as well as we do that he did, and Aizen-sama would never send you to find out something of that nature. So," Harribel scorned evenly, hoisting the third Espada up by her collar until she was upright and on her feet, "I implore you to try another approach if you intend on deceiving us, Ichimaru-_sama_."

Gin laughed and Nelliel blushed in embarrassment. "You're good, Tia-yan."

"Ah well, I'll have to try again later," the fox-faced youth quipped. "For now, how's about you let me in on those two before I go and visit them."

Harribel bristled noticeably. "You're going to see them?"

"That's right." Gin cocked his head to the side. "Anythin' wrong with that?"

The two women exchanged unreadable glances, lingering for a moment in wordless communication before Harribel spoke again. "That would be unwise," she admonished, cutting off the overseer's rebuttal with a sharp glare that lit a spark of indignation within him. "After the two months they have been in our care, they will only talk to Nelliel. Not even Aizen-sama can force them to open their mouths outside of her presence. And then Sha…Grimmjow…has made a habit of attacking everyone other than the two of us and Soul-Splitter."

Ichimaru stood, silent and in thought. "Gurimujou, huh? Is that the name Shadowclaw the Lorde Slayer gave himself? A little harsh on a foreign tongue, isn't it? And waddaya mean he's been attacking people? He's s'posed to be locked up in sekkiseki, right?"

"He is," Harribel affirmed, "Four cuffs for both prisoners, and it would seem that they are not enough."

Gin's eyes shone again. "Four? I thought he was an Adjuchas and that Tousen broke his mask. Aren't your kind supposed to turn knee-high and start suckin' away at their thumbs whenever their faces get busted up. There's no way he needs four. Three can put down a Captain."

"Impossibility holds no bearing when it comes to him. To us Hollows, that creature's very existence should be impossible." The Segunda crossed her arms and through her jacket she released a steam of hot breath into the frigid air. "Obviously, one does not obtain a title such as the Lorde Slayer by being an average Adjuchas."

Her superior was dubious.

Seeking to correct his incredulity, Nelliel swept aside her usual bubbly demeanor and moved in to present her scheduled report on all that had transpired over the past eight weeks.

"Grimmjow-sama's extraordinarily high reiryoku has yet to fully decline into a manageable volume. Given the amount of irreparable damage to his mask, I estimate another three years or so before he loses the ability to prevent his reiatsu from being sealed by his restraints." She briefly suspended her recitation, not because of Gin's unwillingness to understand what had been said so far, but because of how she had referred to her charge. To her side, Harribel remained impassive.

"Also—" she hurriedly carried on only for her impish overseer to cut her off with a wave of his hand as he began heading in the direction of the detention block.

"That sorta thing is better off handed in to Aizen-Fukutaicho on paper, Nel-yan. So, if it's alright with you," he eyed her from over his shoulder, his eternal grin more hungry than amused, "I'd like to take a gander at him myself now since I've got nothin' better to do."

"Ah, but…" Nelliel protested weakly at his receding form, leaving her outstretched arm to fall once more at her side. Defeated, she huffed and allowed for Harribel to pull her along in-step, yet distanced, behind Ichimaru.

"There is no use in turning against a sandstorm." Her inamorata's voice was low but airy as she released her grasp in favor of a tentative brush of her fingers along hers. "It is best to let him reach his own conclusion when it comes to Grimmjow, and we will stand guard should he decide to act up."

"That's not the problem, Tia-chan." She sighed, fixated on the head of metallic hair in front of her. "He's not in a proper state of mind to be giving anyone impressions of himself. You wouldn't know because…because," she knew she shouldn't say any more, but she couldn't bring herself not to, "you didn't know Grimmjow-sama before Aizen-sama came."

Gin slowed his pace, training his ears towards the poignant whispers of the two hybrids.

"He's different now, like he's halfway in between changing into something else."

Harribel stared warily at the Tercera, conflicting over whether or not she should permit her to continue in the presence of their clearly attentive commander.

"What we see every day in that cage is not the same Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez that stood against Baraggan's entire empire on my behalf. He's warped and twisted, nothing like how I remember him. Oh, Tia, you should have seen him. After he survived the final extermination campaign and took revenge on the last of the elder Vasto Lordes, he became so at peace, so relaxed. He was able to come out clean from all that bloodshed." The increasingly melodious reminiscence built ever higher before catching in the woman's throat. "But…I think he's transitioning back into that same monster that endorsed him to chase revenge for so many years. Now, though, it's different. I feel that he won't be able to come back _this_ time."

"Nelliel!" Harribel hissed.

Gin stopped mid-stride and both Arrancar rooted their feet as if Aizen himself would materialize in a puff of smoke to interrogate them further.

"That was somethin' interesting I heard just now," Ichimaru Gin mused aloud, head turned upward in the same fashion of a dog that had caught a scent in the wind. "You almost make it sound like that half-mask Adjuchas is still worth somethin'."

Nelliel felt a swell of outrage break against the walls of her chest and opened her mouth to offer a defense just before Harribel placed her hands over her shoulders in arrest. "Mi Amor," her beloved reprimanded softly. "You have said enough."

While she was certainly capable of holding her own, Harribel cared for her inferior officer far too much to allow her to ensnare herself on one of the boy's baited hooks when taking them resulted in more than just harmless embarrassment. Looking at him, the Fifth Division's Third Seat was no longer out for cheap fun, now resembling more of snake than a fox.

It was times like these when she could openly admit that she would rather him be locked up under her watch than the devil he was so adamant on visiting. The blonde chuckled quietly. That was a thought for the ages.

Unfortunately, her mirth did not get past Gin. "Ya ticklin' her ribs behind your back, Nel-yan?" he probed, ambling over to the Espada in question. "Nah, that ain't it. Your fists are still shaking." He was before her with surprising speed. "C'mon, don't go holdin' out if you're telling jokes. I've heard all the ones in Soul Society, so tell me what's so funny."

His face edged ever closer, until it was inches from hers.

"Nelliel," Harribel drew back her arms, taking the attached maiden with them, "It seems that one escort will have to suffice. I've just remembered that Ichimaru-sama will require a full description of the Espada's welfare before he returns home. It doesn't please me to ask you this, but if you could, would you please retire to our quarters and write up a draft immediately?"

"Hm?" Childish features became muddled. "Oh, sure, Tia-chan."

Gin clucked his tongue on the roof of his mouth while the couple disengaged.

_Damn._

His lips returned to normal human proportions as his would-be victim turned to him with a smile of her own.

"Sorry about that, Ichi-kun," she chirped. "I got upset with you for a second there, but I know that you'll change your mind about Grimmjow-sama once you meet him." And with a flourish of green hair, she vanished, leaving a fleeting, "bye-bye."

Gin gave a dry snicker, picking up a small piece of ceramic debris and skipping it down the vacant hallway in which the remaining two stood. "You did me good, mother hen. Shut me out with no mercy. Now who ya been practicin' on?"

"The best," Harribel answered. "Your aim was obvious."

He shook his head in understanding. "I was just surprised that you both wanted to keep so many secrets about that guy."

"It is for Nelliel's sake."

Ichimaru furrowed his brow.

"She greatly respects him, and I don't want to cause her pain by divulging their history for use against her by either you or Aizen-sama. She experiences enough trouble already from dealing with the way he is now." Harribel rubbed her temple, her posture restless.

"And what's he like now?"

"…Odd."

"That's not very descriptive," Gin said matter-of-factly. "Then again, I don't really care about that. You know that all this has nothing to do with the real reason why I was pressuring Nel-yan so hard. Tell me," he leaned in her direction from across the corridor, "was she delusional, or does that little Adjuchas actually have the power to stand up to Aizen-Fukutaicho? 'Cause she was goin' on like he was already dead."

Down the hall, one of the secondary doorways into the main barracks creaked open and spilled forth the echoing sounds of a hundred myriads.

Harribel did not see fit to speak until the noise was long gone.

"Under certain circumstances," she murmured, "it might be possible."

Aizen's adjutant didn't know what to make of that vague statement. Clearly, there was something going on here, but he knew better than to push Harribel lest he desire to be kept out of her loop indefinitely. He would have to take care of the rest during his planned interview with Shadowclaw, or was it Grimmjow now? Either way, this Grimmjow was getting more interesting by the second. At first, he had written him off as a pack leader with a thirst for retribution, one that attacked the Vasto Lordes when they were at their weakest. After this testimony, though, he couldn't make heads or tails of him, not that it ultimately mattered of course.

He was going to be the one to kill Aizen. There was no gray area when it came to that. Though, it wouldn't hurt to dig up some blackmail surrounding the two Espada and their prisoner should he need to call in any favors. It wouldn't be difficult. The female portion of their group was already borderline treasonous when it came down to each other.

"Do you still wish to enter the detention ward?"

Gin blinked, ejected from his reverie. "What?"

"I asked if you are still intent on visiting them," Harribel repeated tersely.

"Them?" Right, he had forgotten about the other one, and now she was giving him _that_ look again.

"I gotta kill time somehow."

Harribel nodded. "Wait here, then. I will ask Nelliel to return so that we can see you through. As I mentioned before, Grimmjow is aggressive."

Lolling his head from side to side in contemplation, Gin took a swig from his canteen. "Nah, I'll be fine."

He expected resistance, but Aizen's current top soldier accepted his decision a little more quickly than what he had anticipated.

"Indulge me and at least open your ears to a word of advice," she said as she prepared to leave. "Don't try to toy with him as you do with Nelliel. You may find the results unfavorable."

Then, with a boom of sonido, she was rid of him.

Ichimaru just scratched the back of his head and resumed his lengthy trek alone down the dimly lit passage.

Which of them had been the sleeping dog, he wondered.

Some time later, he found himself in the immediate vicinity of a heavily fortified bulkhead. Accessible only from the outside, a strict procedure was enforced when it came to unannounced visits. Luckily enough, he now had the authority to sweep such things under the rug.

He neared closer to the structure, undaunted by its irregularly large size. Lesser immortals might have thought it somewhat imposing the way the nearby torches cast an eerie glow over the enormous hatchway.

The sentry there bowed on sight and swiftly undid the many latches spread out across the door before gesturing for the Shinigami to enter. "Ichimaru-sama," he greeted in a thick accent, his tone carrying a small measure of urgency. "The other one that was stationed here went inside to deliver rations and hasn't returned. If he is alive, I would be grateful if you could notify me so that I can extract him."

There was no sign that the young prodigy heard him as he pulled the bulkhead aside and braved the opaque darkness of the stockade.

Once inside, a heavy atmosphere settled over the world after the resounding clang of the entryway sealing shut gave way to reticence.

It was cold. That was Gin's first observation of the prison facility's interior. An otherworldly chill unlike anything he had previously experienced in Hueco Mundo was nipping at his flesh with complete disregard for his shihakushou. A thermos of hot miso soup could have greatly expedited his defection right about then. At that thought, he bit out a curse but nonetheless kept his composure. Even when the all-encompassing bitterness crept beneath his skin and gave him the sensation of frost forming over his bones, his smirking visage never wavered.

Reaching around to his back, he gripped his canteen and tilted it up to his lips only for ice to meet his waiting tongue.

Something was very wrong here.

Wrong, and increasingly exciting.

He shuffled forward experimentally into the absolute blackness, discovering that the air offered no small quantity of friction. A low-hanging musk permeated the dungeon, creating an added, viscous layer to the stagnant desert air. Upon being displaced by his movements, it swirled upwards in nebulous fashion and crackled brilliantly when it came into contact with his sword.

_Reiatsu?_

As if sensing his thoughts, the fog roiled ever so slightly and Gin could swear that it helped push him along as he drifted past the deserted guardhouse and into the cell block.

It was denser there, he noticed. The reishi lamps lining the aisle in between rows of barred compartments shed a dull light overtop a considerably taller blanket of turbid smog. He could clearly see it now, a plume of sapphire essence that tugged at the fabric of his soul. And if Ichimaru were to have harbored any fear in the presence of this ghastly mist, he would have heard a warbled voice attempting to elicit even greater horror.

Half-ignorant and half-apathetic, he drew his first breath since setting foot amongst the gallery of those whom Aizen had disgraced and succumbed to a light cough. The recovery was instantaneous, and Gin scanned his surroundings discreetly, daring the walls to make jest at the way in which his lungs now burned from intermingling with the virulent emanation.

There was nothing, not a sound.

Curious, he advanced a bit further and then lingered by the first line of cages. The beasts within regarded him dispassionately but made eye-contact nevertheless.

Gin drew his Zanpakuto and extended it in kind, rapping it against the fortified rods of anti-spiritual matter that lay between him and them. Born of the impact, sparks streaked forth into the dusk and pelted their chalky skin.

He waited and the challenge went unanswered, so he shrugged and moved on. However, his blade was left released so as to ease the strain on his respiration. With a loose grip, its master continued to knock it along the far end of the gangway as his outstretched fingers struck the opposite bars like dry autumn sticks. All the while, rows upon rows of malnutritioned Hollows and natural Arrancar watched him carry on, relaxedly following his passing with the feral coals that had overtaken their eyes. Occasionally, though, those coals would break away and note how the omnipresent vapor stirred at every interval of the rhythmic clanking.

What was with this place, the junior officer internally groused. Why did fear and caution not exist here? Shouldn't the inmates have been terrified at what he was and more so at what he represented. Instead of pacing circles in their kennels and gnarling in defense, they simply sat there on their knees or haunches and surveyed him as if he were a showman coming out from behind the curtain.

Unconsciously, his usual languid stride shifted into a more rigid posture. How long he marched before that procession of demons, he didn't know. Their unbroken observance had grated away at his rational sense, and it was that opening which indulged the murk to take hold of him.

For no discernable reason, he halted mid-step, becoming deaf to Shinsou's worriment and melding into the void beneath the endless sea of sand.

A jackal laid inside the cell to his left; it was the first of hundreds not to make a spectacle of him. Prone on its back, the creature was deathly prostrate on the floor. He disliked it instantly.

Gin approached the Hollow and stooped low to inspect it leeringly before drumming his knuckles on a thin column of sekkiseki. "Wakey wakey," he lilted. No matter what he tried to pass himself off as, the malice currently dripping from his speech did not belong to a lackadaisical trickster. "I know ya ain't dead, so quit tryin' to play me," came a tone so agonizingly mocking as he inflicted a few light wounds here and there.

Meanwhile, some rebellious quantum of mute lucidity located in the far reaches of his psyche insinuated that something was terribly off about this abrupt change in behavior. The only times he had ever committed such acts of spontaneous cruelty were when he was reminded of just why he wanted to kill Aizen so vehemently.

Somehow, that realization just made him hate the thing more, and for a moment of profound vexation, the real Ichimaru Gin surfaced. And as he quietly ordered his sword to pierce his undeserving prey, a blue fog escaped his mouth.

Skewering the jackal through its shoulder and vitals, the animal gave a pained shriek. Then, all at once, the ambient reiatsu amassed in a great cobalt surge and engulfed it entirely, leaving behind naught but ash before the billowing cloud retreated out of sight.

The boy's reaction was to stumble back, shocked, catching his fall just in time to be offset a second time by an unforeseen explosion of sound. All throughout the prison, a booming chorus of raucous, inhuman laughter shook him to his core.

He spun about in vertigo. Those cold, countless eyes that had been boring into him mere seconds ago were now full of rapture and sparing him in favor of the ash.

"You held out well," a man's voice articulated over the commotion.

Feeling suddenly drained, Gin naturally gravitated towards the praise and stood facing a rather tall, spindly-looking Adjuchas. "Against what?" he demanded in his best Tokyo dialect.

"His power," the Menos said, "the power that even Aizen could not overcome without fair difficulty. You must be quite guarded for you to have withstood it until just then. All it requires is a single moment of weakness."

"Ya don't say?" Gin sheathed his wakizashi, not really caring to ask for a more detailed explanation. He leaned against the adjacent wall and bounced his head on the stone in an effort to clear the haze that had settled in after he'd lost himself.

"I am Shawlong Kufang," it spoke again, "Grimmjow's Chief Retainer. I can only assume that you are the one I'm supposed to call Ichimaru-sama."

He perked up at the mention of the fallen legend. Whatever it was that just happened, had that been his doing? What kind of power was that?

"You are confused, no?" Shawlong asked. Gin could hear his lengthy claws meeting together in sharp clicks beside his position. "I will take the liberty from your lack of denial, then. It is plain to me that you are not well-acquainted with this world of ours."

"Aizen only lets me know what's rel'vant to my missions," Gin said robotically, rubbing his forehead. "Ain't much more I can get out of him other than rumors about where the Vasto Lordes are hidin'."

Shawlong tittered. "I see. Aizen must believe you to be a fool—there is only one remaining Lorde and that is Baraggan. Grimmjow has slain all others whether they were elders or newly-ascended. I gather that another thirty years will be required to produce another generation."

Upon that unwelcome revelation, Gin tore himself from the wall. "And how d'you know that?"

"Because, as I said before, I am Grimmjow's Chief Retainer," the insect-like fiend replied. "I have personally witnessed the execution of eleven Vasto Lordes by his hand, and I am positive that there were more before I joined the empire."

"The empire?"

"Indeed, the unnamed confederation of the sublevels from which half of my fellow patriots here hail." A bony arm slid through the bars and swept across the still-cackling detainees. "And the rest, well, they have recently joined in the King's cause save for maybe the one that now coats your flesh."

Gin was finally aware of the fresh blood on his face. He didn't yet know it, but he would never again enjoy that sensation in the same way he had before.

"Why did I-"

"Kill him?" Shawlong completed, pinning a fluttering speck of spiritual decay between his fingers. "Because you desired to and because Grimmjow too craved his death. Please understand, you came today during an awkward time. We were participating in a game of silence, the rule being that the first to disrupt the King's reading would be used to sustain his power. Ah," he snapped his pincers, "I've been talking in a circle; forgive me. I'm sure you wish to know of the nature of his strength. You see, the more prominent of us Hollows each hold a mastery of a unique skill: dominion over water, dominion over fire, even dominion over time. Those sorts of things. And our lord's element just so happens to be the simplest of them all."

"Reiatsu," Gin surmised. The possibilities were endless.

"Correct. Grimmjow is renowned as a master manipulator of reiatsu whose fame compares only with Viceroy Soul-Splitter's talent for shaping reiryoku."

The Shinigami raised a brow. A full day could be spent counting the number of things that currently piqued his interest. "So that one's a viceroy, huh? Yer empire sure likes its statuses," he chaffed. "Now tell me, if ya'd be so kind, what's it about your leader—besides the fact that he's strong—that keeps the loyalty of a smart guy like you? You can't even see him from here, can ya?"

Kufang was amused. "I, we need no other reason. It is the same in every dimension; the rulers are selected by strength. The living world has wealth and influence, this world has muscle and tenacity, and I wager that your heaven is governed by something as equally petty."

They both knew that it was true.

"And regarding your other point: that my ties to him should have broken the second he became indisposed. Hmph, you underestimate his allure. There is a reason behind why he was able to sway the rabble around us in a mere two months," Shawlong rattled the bondage affixed to his wrists, "and that reason is because he represents what it means to be condemned. A being marked for death for no reason other than simply existing garners much sympathy from the ostracized, the deserters of the Lordes' armies, and the like."

By this time, Gin had fully regained his bearings. "Enough sympathy to sit back an' laugh every time one of ya gets killed for makin' a peep out of line?" He whistled theatrically.

"Death awaits us either way," the soul-eating sage retorted. "Look around you. We are forced to lie in chains, stewing in the dark, fed scraps of our starved kin, beaten daily to relieve the frustration of the guards. And for what must we endure, a lifetime of slavery under Aizen after he discovers a more efficient method to steal our masks from us?"

Ichimaru didn't know how to respond. In truth, he felt a little cheated that so many were given the chance to share in his hatred of Aizen.

"Many of us are dispirited," Shawlong went on gravely over the dying laughter, making no exertion to stall Gin as he turned to leave. "Every new day brings with it more voluntary sacrifices to slow Grimmjow's regression, most of whom have never seen him in person—only having communicated through his reiatsu. They hope to be with him when he regains his sanity and moves on the throne of Hueco Mundo."

Echoing distantly by now, his words carried far, too far for the kitsune assassin's liking. Years prior, the academy had taught him that Hollows were to be thought of as ravenous, single-minded animals, and like everyone else he hadn't saw fit to question what seemed like an obvious truth. Here, though, in the abyss, he was able to see more humanity in a single Hollow than what he himself contained. The irony of it all.

On the day when Aizen had first taken him along on one of his visitations to the desert, he had said, "Don't you find it strange, Gin, that this world had never known slavery, torture, and rape until the emergence of the Arrancar? Doesn't that strike you as odd? Which half of their hybrid souls do you think compels them to practice such things, I wonder?"

It had made him a little sick then, and it still would have if he hadn't since discarded his moral sense.

Melting into the shadows as he neared what he knew to be his destination, he could identify that the closer he came to his target, the more cells lay vacant. Was this 'King' really so special that Hollows would overcome their innate will to survive in order to see to it that he remain an Adjuchas just as Shawlong had indicated? If so, then this world, at least as far as ethics went, was shot to hell much more so than he could've imagined. Like it wasn't already enough that he was part of a force that took it upon themselves to eradicate a species which could produce such a creature as Nelliel or Harribel, things that could love and reason with the best of modern minds. And that was before they had torn their masks.

In retrospect, had he actually placed any faith in Soul Society to begin with, he might have felt some guilt over the fact that his race killed for pleasure and a misguided sense of duty while theirs killed merely for survival.

Well, as they say, "Shānai." It couldn't be helped.

The end of the block was in sight now, and the only Hollows left in the mostly-deserted row all had large X's scratched into the walls of their holding rooms—the consent of sacrifice, Gin deduced. They would be preserved, one being devoured every week for the next hundred years.

Later on, the future Captain would genuinely find it a tragedy that so few were left who remembered everything that had happened in that forsaken corner of the universe. Rightfully so, he believed that never again would he hear the definitive proof that Hollows were more human than Shinigami.

He could recall with great clarity that, in the midst of his approach, one bearing the suicidal brand had meditatively chanted,

_"I work in this world in company with all Buddhas,_

_I work in this world in company with all Bodhisattvas;_

_Protected by Oya-sama I am here;_

_I know many who have preceded me along this path._

_I am sporting in the midst of the Namu-Amida-butsu._

_How happy I am with this favor!_

_Namu-Amida-butsu!"_

And another had uttered months after,

_"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me."_

Indeed, the world was good and truly fucked. And the only ones that knew it better than he were whom he was about to meet.

Creeping noiselessly across the cobbled stone flooring, he found himself unintentionally listening in on what Harribel would later tell him was standard routine between the two.

"Serves you right, you botched fuckin' half n' half!" came a biting shout. "No one looks down on me, especially not some bastarding Arrancar tool!"

This slanderous outburst was subsequently accompanied by a string of maniacal snickers before a second, equally abrasive voice broke in.

"Shut it, Shadowcunt," the other disembodied vulgarian hissed. "It's hard enough for us to get some sleep around here without you hollering all the god damned time!"

"Fuck off! Why don't you live up to your name and shit out the part of you that keeps bitching at me so I can put it to sleep for good!"

Back and forth, the arguing went on for a few minutes more until Gin was right up next to the source of the disturbance. Only by his choosing did he stay undetected—or at least, at the time, he'd thought that was the case. There was a brief scuffle followed by a torrent of swears. Then, an ivory muzzle poked out from behind the bars, nearly brushing his arm in the process, and rumbled, "We could smell you, Shinigami, ever since you caused that racket down there." The snout parted, revealing rows of jagged fangs partly covered by blackened lips. "And I do mean the door. There's no need to slam it that hard."

The eavesdropper gave an entertained hum from deep within his throat and stepped out into the light of a disintegrating Arrancar, which he correctly guessed was the remains of the disappeared guardsman. By force of habit, his initial greeting came out, "Jibun wa Gurimujou dekka?"

Just as he finished, he realized his mistake with a sucking sound made against his teeth. He then motioned to rephrase the question but became sidetracked when he noticed the surrounding scent of burnt atmosphere and the glass-like shards of scorched sand beneath his feet. Someone had fired a cero, and going by the residual reiatsu in the air, the culprit was clear.

That level of attack should have been impossible in his current state.

"Chau," the thing before him growled in an entirely different tone than what he had used a moment ago. "Ima sora wai no namae ja nai ya de."

Gin blinked, leaving the mystery of the cero forgotten. Of all the first impressions he had anticipated, _that_ had stricken from the list entirely. By the gods, someone other than himself spoke Kansai-ben in the afterlife.

"Well, if you ain't Grimmjow no more, then who are ya?"

"_I am_—" dual voices rang out and then stopped together when the Hollow in the forefront of the cage cast his sapphire gaze back towards a gray wolf that had lain previously unseen in one of the back corners.

"We've already mastered ventriloquism to the point where we can assume each other's persona in spontaneous conversation. I don't see the point in continuing now," it said dismissively.

The lupine apparition's haunches sank in disappointment.

Off to the side, Gin was coming to terms with just how poorly he dealt with having no control over a situation. He breathed in a lengthy sigh and observed as the ebon-striped panther turned its fractured face towards him once more. Drawn in by the motion, he couldn't help but stare into the disfigured human jaw that had been exposed by the broken portion of his mask.

If the Adjuchas had caught on to where his eyes were appraising, he gave no outward indication. "You want to know who I am, do you?" it asked lowly.

"If ya got the time," the boy said, now absentmindedly taking in the contents of the rather spacious cell. Oddly enough, he didn't feel any threatening aura coming off the beast while he perused over the many books littering the ground and the nigh-unreadable text scrawled over the walls. After all that had occurred earlier, he had expected something a little more imposing from the alleged emperor of the sublevels. Not counting the smoldering corpse on the other side of the bars, the scene was strangely normal when compared to the past regions of the detention wing.

Or so he believed until a smoky wisp of blue reiryoku leaked forth from the cracks in not-Grimmjow's maw.

"Damn," it cursed, "and I just fucking ate."

The mist made an effort to return to its host, and most of it did save for a small puff which diffused into the air never to return.

"Lose some more?" the wolf queried.

"Nothing to cry over."

Gin, now set on guard from again seeing the very substance that had once taken over the better part of his rationale, cleared his throat.

"Yes?" the jungle-cat answered innocently, bringing his attention back around. "And what business were you here for again, Ichi-kun?"

Oh, Nel-yan was not going to go unpunished for this.

"For starters, how 'bout you give me somethin' to call ya since you already seem to know who I am," he forced himself to say without sounding irked.

A foreboding glint shone in the creature's eye at that.

"You asked for it," whatever it was in the back piped up jovially.

"I go by many names, child!" not-Grimmjow roared. "When I had no more than two legs and wandered the red streets of Heian-kyo, I was called Wakahisa Tetsuya. Then, upon my murder, I took the name Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. After which came Shadowclaw the Lorde Slayer, the Envoy of Chaos, the King of Calamity, and then Grimmjow once more," he declared theatrically, leaving Gin to wonder how far he was willing to go to make a fool of him. Harribel had said he was 'odd', but this went beyond the simple definition of odd. And had he said Heian-kyo? Sure it would explain his Kyoto accent, but that would make him at least eight hundred years old!

"Now, though," gods, there was more, "I stand before you as Edmond Dantes, prisoner of your masters Danglars and Villefort." The reference flew miles over the young reaper's head. "Ah, that reminds me," the eccentric panther exclaimed in great volume, "Have you seen Fernand, my killer, amidst this labyrinth in which I'm confined? A gutless, green-eyed carrion-eater, that one. Very hard to miss."

"Can't say that I have," Gin said mechanically.

"A pity. My soul is parched from a drought of fortune," Edmond pronounced melodramatically. "Very well, then. May I now introduce to you my dear friend?"

Maybe Harribel should have come along after all.

"Allow us, Messer Dantes. Our mouth yet froths with words unspoken." Rising to his paws, the wolf padded forward and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his 'friend'.

"Firstly, I was known as Amidio Eloy Marquez de Esparza, honored protector of España. And once we succumbed to wounds gained recklessly, much the same as he," this earned the other animal a soft nudge, "we discarded our mortal designations and became Soul-Splitter. Shortly thereafter, I regained some semblance of my pride as a noble in becoming Viceroy of El Bosque de los Menos. But status evades me a second time for we awoke mere minutes ago and found ourselves transformed into the mad Abbe Faria, scholar of exotic sciences and hoarder of secrets!"

When the performance concluded, Gin waited for either rose petals to fall from the ceiling or for himself to wake up. Then again, Shawlong _had_ told him that at least Grimmjow was insane. He only wished that he could've mentioned that his cellmate served to multiply his lunacy. The alternation of first-person singular and plural pronouns had rendered him overtly confused, and the rest had turned his impatience to vexation. This was not a game, and he wasn't going to leave without making a foothold towards Aizen out of those basket-cases' heads.

Tentatively, a pull came at his uniform. "Are you not well-versed in classical literature, Ichi-kun?" Edmond prodded, batting at his shihakushou and somehow managing to refrain from tearing it to shreds with his claws. "Or perhaps Aizen Sousuke isn't so generous with his library towards you as he is with us. Such a shame, Nelliel would have found this quite endearing, I'm certain. Why don't you go fetch her for me, hm?"

That was it. His features hardened slightly and his spiritual pressure rose in an effort to establish his presence over the patronizing specter as Aizen so often did unto him.

"Easy there, youngblood." Dantes' tail gave a light flick and Gin was suddenly slammed against the far wall, forcing a dry heave from his collapsed lungs.

_What the hell?_

Through blurred vision he could spot the four locations on his assailant's legs where sekkiseki cuffs were secured. Aizen had even put in a little extra, driving five-centimeter thick barbed bolts into each of the joints for added suppression in addition to inflicting terrible harm on the thing every time it moved. So how had it been able toss him like a ragdoll just then? He refused to acknowledge the simple answer: that it was just that strong. No, there had to be something more, and he would soon discover just what that something was.

"Oh, you psychopomp of lost souls," Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez beckoned as crackling reiatsu seethed from his muscular frame, "have you come to trade in your life for only my name in return?"

A single paw adorned with razor-like talons pulverized the body of the dead sentry mercilessly. "So many others came asking for much more," he drawled, grinding the guard's ashes into the floor and encircling his visitor with a curtain of acidic emissions.

_**You're so modest in your demands**_, a garbled voice whispered inside Gin's skull.

_**Count yourself lucky. I'll be giving you another chance since **__**Capitán**_ _**Odelschwanck is so fond of you. Remember to thank her next time you see her, and don't you ever try to challenge me again.**_

A sensation akin to a thousand needles piercing his brain accompanied an excruciatingly painful tug on Gin's spiritrons as the reiatsu gripped his skin and dragged him back in front of the cell.

"Capitán?" he coughed, fighting uselessly against the Lorde Slayer's power before falling limp in acceptance. "That means captain, right? What's she a captain in, yer empire?"

"That's right," Soul-Splitter confirmed, seemingly aware of-or very much used to-Grimmjow's teleptahy. Though he did nothing, he eyed the suspended Shinigami pitiably. "She was our only senior in service to the empire-a deserter of Baraggan's. If you have seen the scar left on the only Vasto Lorde whom we have spared, then you know the rest of the story."

"So that's why she calls ya Grimmjow-sama, huh?" Whilst Nelliel's past came to light, Ichimaru had never for an instant averted his focus away from the owner of the soul-crushing force which could very much annihilate him on multiple planes of existence at once. "You an' her, what've you got going on together? Ya after Aizen or what?"

"She is in my service," the ancient demon said, dropping his captive to the ground and, unexpectedly, recollecting his reiatsu. "She will always be my servant as will the rest of those you passed on your way to me. My enemies are their enemies."

Gin lay panting when the pressure finally lifted, taking a full minute to stand. "And Harribel-san?"

"Nelliel is with me, and Tia will follow her to a shared grave whether it is I or Aizen who digs it."

"Those two're Aizen's only perfect natural Arrancar, ya know? He's bound to find them out now or sooner, and they'll take him straight to ya if I don't first."

"I don't care."

He was shocked that anyone could be so bold. Even he, with all of his pent-up hatred, hadn't dared to let his intentions be known.

"Then what can _you_ do against Aizen from in here!" Ire had taken control of his words. How dare this monster make a joke out of his vendetta!

Grimmjow barked a guttural laugh while Soul-Splitter returned to his corner and settled down for a try at a nap. "What are you thinking, little death god, that my power is no more, that my empire has crumbled simply because I lay here idle in this cabinet of daevas? A kingdom is merely a subjective territory," he proclaimed.

And he arched his back regally. "So then, kneel in reverence before me, Shinigami, for heaven has decreed me lord of this Bastille!"

"As I lack the energy to contest the throne," the wolf quipped sleepily. Other than that, no angelic choir descended to verify his coronation.

Ignoring the comment from the peanut gallery, Grimmjow continued on. "You see, one can claim that he is king of the worlds, and it will be so if he truly believes it. Yet, no sane man would acknowledge that sort of lofty declaration. The thing you fail to understand is that the idea of an empire comes to fruition only through conquering the minds of those who dwell within your dominion." A paw landed firmly on the floor for emphasis. "Do you understand now? To the countless Hollows whom I have subjugated through my strength and sheer force of will, I am still very much a king while Aizen is very much a lunatic."

His foundation shaken by his own newfound helplessness combined with the ardor pouring from the devil's words, Gin felt like something he'd thought he would never identify with again. Up against the Emperor who did not and could never fear him as all but Aizen did, he felt like a child, a child that was mad at the unfairness of the intangible.

"You are angry," his verbal adversary pointed out after a period of pregnant silence. "Do you want his head for yourself that badly?"

Ichimaru Gin's sky blue eyes were for the first and final time thrust into full view.

"Or is it something else," Grimmjow taunted, letting the prospect dangle maliciously for a time. "Nevermind, your ambitions are beneath me."

He laughed again, and then his external facade fell away, leaving him just as bare as Gin.

"Still, you interest me, kid. I'll allow you this much, you remind me of a younger version of myself. That being said, I might have a few things to teach you. So let me ask you, boy, a question that you might never have asked yourself: do you value life?"

Gin looked at him, puzzled with a semblance of a grin reforming now that he'd apparently dodged the largest bullet ever fired at him. "What'cha mean by that?"

The King of slaves glowered at him from inside his shroud of darkness. "It's as it sounds. Do you value life?"

His smile grew wider. "Value life, huh? Nope, can't say that I place a high price on livin'. I'm a snake through and through, sunning myself on the rocks by day and slithering around eating prey by night. You know how it is, don't ya?"

This answer appeared to dissatisfy Grimmjow. "More so than you it seems."

Silver brows became sunken. "Now why would you say that?"

"A true answer to that question would not arrive so quickly." Black-tipped ears flicked about when another uproar began down near Shawlong's side of the underground. "It took me hundreds of years to come to terms with the fact that blood holds no weight to exchange for me. The reason behind that is due to the fact that you are only as alive as how much value you place upon that vital spark which constitutes yourself and the world around you. And that makes me one of the undead—a wraith and a god of slaughter."

It might have been the fleeting connection that the two shared through Grimmjow's reiatsu, but for a fraction of a second, Gin felt an indescribable emotion unwillingly enter him.

"At your age, you have to be here for a reason, kid. You've got to be walking around with blood all over your face for something, a cause that extends past yourself unlike mine. Why don't you quit seeing things in red for a second and fucking _think_."

And it might have been the lingering effects of that undefined feeling that led Ichimaru's thoughts down a dirt road in the outer rings of Rukongai where he once stumbled, by chance, across a starved and abused mess of blonde hair on what would later become her birthday.

"Only after losing everything are you free to do anything, and it's a freedom unlike any other," Grimmjow mused, "but, you know, if you haven't yet lost everything, then you may as well keep a tight grip on what you have left, yeah? You keep going down that road to ruin and you're bound to lose sight of what you really want in life."

_**Whatever your business with Aizen, leave him to me. Go home, kid. What the hell are you doing in a place like this?**_

Those words would weigh heavily on Gin, and they'd made it so that he was still questioning his decisions a full century later. Did he have what it took? He didn't know, and he partially resigned himself to the fact that he never would until the time came. There in those lightless fathoms it had dawned on him that this undead monarch, who could totally eclipse the strength he had tirelessly trained solely to defeat the scholarly Vice-Captain, had already lost to Aizen. It had tried and he hadn't, so it knew better was what he thought.

Finally, he spoke, "You tellin' me all this from experience or somethin'?"

"Nah, nothing like that. It's just that here, standing on the precipice of insanity, I can see everything for what it is."

For a moment, the panther was elsewhere, gone off to a place that Gin prayed he would never see.

"Whether you're a rock or a grain of sand," Grimmjow muttered, "they both sink underwater."

And then he was gone again, prompting the Shinigami to return to Soul Society and catch a late lunch with his friend on the grounds of Tenth Division.

That night, Ichimaru Gin thought hard, harder than he'd ever thought in his life over the direction he was moving in.

Then, sometime in the early morning, he reached the conclusion that he would continue along with acting as Aizen's subordinate, that he would be the one to kill him. He knew that no empire lasted forever and that he would never find peace knowing that another had assuaged his desire for revenge. Nevertheless, he took what Shadowclaw the Lorde Slayer had said to heart, relying no longer on rage and keeping a tight grip on what he had left, though sometimes it was the other way around.

In fact, he wouldn't have minded her holding onto him a little longer, but at least he'd remembered to say he was sorry.

Meanwhile, Grimmjow was undergoing his own transition, and Gin would note the changes every time he visited his cell. He was morphing into something crude, something veiled by years spent in isolation. While one became sharper, an enigma who managed to avoid even a single drop of blood from ever staining his skin again, the other grew more savage.

It was to be decades until Ichimaru would hear from the newborn Coyote Starrk that he was the last person to ever converse with Grimmjow when he was in possession of a sound mind. Indeed, for all his supreme confidence, nothing could impede Aizen as he gradually uprooted his empire, assimilating it into his own through death and false promises. That might have done it, or it might have been Nelliel's disappearance, or it might have been when Aizen had force-fed Soul-Splitter enough for him to evolve and he had left Grimmjow alone with nothing but his thoughts for a whole twenty years.

All anyone knew was that somewhere along the lines, what would become the Primera Espada had transformed into the son of perdition. His speech was no longer a predatory drawl but a rough tongue filled with overabundant swearing and sarcasm that gave the impression of a thug at best. And eyes of cold fire were kept burning low, flaring only on rare occasions.

Only during trivial matters did remnants of his old self resurface such as in the times when he and Starrk would argue for fun across their entire multilingual knowledge, when he would pin a man down with words alone, or when Sun-Sun was able to coax out a piece of his history.

Gin thought this convenient. Clouded by his own arrogance, Aizen had never taken a close enough look at his most prized slave when it would have benefitted him the most. If he had, then he may have reconsidered hybridizing him for a second time.

In his mind, he liked to imagine that Grimmjow was just playing dumb, biding his time.

Much the same as he was.

* * *

"I'm accustomed to an intrusion being followed by some sort of statement of intent," Starrk said dryly.

Ichimaru Gin, age one hundred and thirty-three, sipped at his drink in response.

"By the way," the shaggy Arrancar added, "your peace-offering tastes terrible." He held up the jug of sake which his overseer had tossed to him minutes prior to its present criticism and drained it into a nearby plant.

In the center of the parlor, Harribel ceased painting just as Starrk resumed masterfully delivering his rendition of El Condor Pasa with his acoustic six-string. "Do you have the slightest idea of how difficult it is to raise an acacia in arctic temperatures with no sunlight," she asked in annoyance, sparing a glance back to her unfinished piece and deftly scooping up a bead of vermillion before it had the chance to spill down the canvas.

"I admit to being neither a botanist nor an herbologist," he retorted.

Sitting on an ottoman with her hands in her lap, Apache broke her wary stare from Ichimaru and looked up at Sun-Sun. "What's the difference?"

"One exists, the other doesn't." Her sister's voice was full of concentration as she ran a fine brush down the other woman's cobalt bangs.

"Alright, you're finished. Mila-Rose," she called after a few more strokes, giving Apache a tap in the direction of the nearest mirror and gesturing for the amazoness to take her turn on the cushion.

"Uh-huh," the brunette mumbled, slowly making her way over to the makeshift salon, keeping her eyes fixated on Gin.

Upon finding her barber, she distraughtly whispered into her ear, "Why is he here?"

"I don't know," Sun-Sun replied. "Ichimaru-sama," she hailed politely and without warning, causing Mila-Rose to busy herself with whatever mundane task she could contrive in the close vicinity. "If I may ask, why are you here?"

Gin turned his head. Under the right light, his smile might have been charming at that very moment. "Dunno," he said haplessly. "I s'pose I came for the company." He took another drink and swiveled his concealed gaze back over to Starrk.

"Well, there you have it," Sun-Sun said, pressing her fellow Fraccion down into the ottoman and beginning her search for split ends. Yes, she thought to herself, it was going to take some time for her siblings to see that man as their ally. She leaned over and smirked into her sleeved shoulder at the discomfort radiating from her newest patient.

It hadn't even been a full ten minutes since the silver-haired commander had barged into their quarters and all but forced Harribel to reveal that he was a potential asset to their eventual rebellion. After the wave of entertainment that little revelation had conjured, the initial reactions brought about by the realization that this was indeed happening had been interesting to say the least. And all the while, Gin hadn't said a word until just then.

Throughout the room, amongst the unflappable were Starrk, Lilynette, and Sun-Sun who attributed her lack of any real concern to a constant exposure to something infinitely more dangerous. And the rest, well, they were all finding their own ways to deal with his unannounced arrival. Harribel had made the decision to graduate from calligraphy to landscapes, Apache was still lost in the mirror, and Mila-Rose had just tightly shut her eyes and gone off in a hasty pursuit of zen. Humorously, Sun-Sun wondered how long that would last, but who was she to judge an individual's coping mechanisms?

She shrugged unnoticeably and kept brushing.

A few minutes went by, and Apache was now at ease enough to hold a proper conversation. Setting the mirror down by the younger of her two sisters, she fell into a recliner close by and struck up with, "Hey, Sun-Sun, I've been wondering," she folded her hands over the armrest and blew an immaculately groomed strand of hair out her face as she rested her chin on her knuckles, "why isn't Grimmjow the Cero Espada?"

It was Harribel who took the liberty of answering, seeing that her subordinate was lost in the world of aesthetic maintenance. "There is no rank Cero," she sighed, relinquishing her brush and flipping a plastic sheet over her easel to protect it from dust amongst other things. The work hadn't come out exactly to her liking, and so she dejectedly retired to a distant loveseat next to Lilynette who was dozing quietly. Naturally, she placed the blame squarely on Gin.

"The title was invented during this current generation of Espada, presumably to accommodate Yammy's temper. If Grimmjow had been offered the position of Cero, I have no doubt that he would have refused it immediately."

"And speaking of Grimmjow-sama," Sun-Sun interjected over whatever it was Apache was going to ask her mistress after she had concluded her explanation, "where exactly is he at the moment?" There were prominent notes of distinct feminine rage in her voice that would have most likely proven fatal to mortal men.

"Fuck him," Mila-Rose spat, obviously still upset over how he had kicked her out of his chambers.

"I would very much like to finish doing so, yes," the serpentine hairdresser said tersely, giving a rather resilient knot a harsh tug.

"Damn it, ow!"

"You said the last time you saw him was when he ran out to chase down a familiar reiatsu on his floor, right?" Starrk scooted up to the edge of his seat, looking at the woman perplexedly while he played. "Seeing as how you know his current form better than the rest of us, your guess would be more educated than mine. However, I, calling upon my experience with many of his past mentalities and manifestations, will tell you that you probably don't want to know."

Getting up in an uncharacteristic display of restlessness, Harribel agreed with a detached 'hmph'. "I," she breathily declared of a sudden, drawing even Gin's attention, "feel that I must have a glass of wine."

Rising to the occasion, Starrk shifted to a serenading tone and joined her by the massive liquor cabinet which Grimmjow had unceremoniously dumped into the common room. Of all things, _that_ had been his mark of permanent residence in Harribel's part of the tower.

"For your virgin tasting, Madame, I ask of you: red or white" he said in perfect French, further adding to the confusion to the point where Sun-Sun handed her brush off to Mila-Rose with an order to continue on her own.

"Harribel-sama, are you perhaps disturbed over Grimm—"

"I hear that white's only for cougars an' vegans," Ichimaru supplied over his shoulder with pinpoint timing.

The blond Espada shot her superior an odd look and then said to Starrk, "Nelliel drank white."

"Well, she was sort of a vegan, our world's version of one anyway. I'm just impressed that Fox-Face understands French."

"There's a lady who taught me red, white, 'n black. Can't say much else."

On the other end of the room, Apache frowned. "Mountain lions drink wine?"

"Don't ask me," Mila-Rose huffed as she struggled with her unruly mane.

In the meantime, Starrk was able to successfully excavate a vintage merlot from the myriad of decanters within the cabinet. Slicing a circle around the bottleneck with an outstretched claw, he took in the scent and quickly presented Harribel and himself with a moderate amount of the purplish-crimson liquid.

"It's quite flavorful," Harribel praised after an eager taste.

"Indeed." The Segunda did a bit of rummaging and pulled out a second, half-empty bottle with '_when life gives you shit_' written on the label in Grimmjow's handwriting. "A shame I must ruin it." Filling a shot glass with the horrid-smelling solution and dropping it into his fermented spirit with a gentle 'plink', he saw fit to rejoin the circle of furniture in the center of the room with the first-time wine drinker in tow.

Taking up mirrored positions with the still-slumbering Lilynette acting as a barrier between the two, Harribel managed to exhibit both speed and elegance as she drank while Starrk engulfed his noxious concoction in a single swig.

"That," he wheezed, "is an abomination of the senses." Unclenching his teeth and letting the shot glass fall into his hand, he held it under Lilynette's nose for an instantaneous awakening.

"Fuckin' hell," the less-than-conservatively dressed girl gasped, recoiling away from the attack on her heightened olfactory sense. "Whaddaya want, ya bastard?" A flailing kick fell upon her other half's shin. "First ya make me do all the sleepin' for both of us so you can kick off your damn musical career and now this shit!"

Acting deaf towards the ranting coming from the middle of the couch, Starrk extended an accusatory finger towards Sun-Sun who was largely unaffected by the chaos happening all around her. "I understand your concern but," he paused to keep Lilynette from smashing his instrument, nearly goring his hand on her horn, "you should learn to mind the elephants."

"I agree, though, I would have liked to phrase it differently," Harribel murmured and refilled her glass.

Sun-Sun was nonplussed at best. Closing her coral-hued eyes, she inhaled deeply and exhaled in kind. And when her eyelids opened once more, the expression transmitted by her shimmering orbs reminded everyone of exactly who her lover was.

"Where. Is. He?"

A bolt of lightning struck the balcony outside and Hueco Mundo's worldwide storm howled in full force, sending bullets of viscous rain pounding against the metal shutters.

Back inside, Mila-Rose had dropped her brush and Lilynette became as docile as a kitten.

"And that is my wine you're drinking, so I have a right to know," tacked on the coiled snake.

Harribel, being the first to recover, regarded the merlot in her hand with an unreadable criticism. "I had thought it strange that Grimmjow would carry such an extensive selection."

Starrk chuckled at that, tactlessly taking a drink directly from the bottle.

"May I remind you that my ability of selective poisoning can be used outside of Resurreccion."

A spray of wine, projected with such force that it exited his mouth as a vapor, flew into the air as Ichimaru inspected his own alcohol carefully.

"I don't know and neither does Tia," the former-Primera admitted in defeat. "It's just that he's been gone for near to eight hours now. Plus, this one decides to show up right as curfew ends." He stuck out his thumb offhandedly towards Gin.

Sun-Sun placed her hands on her hips expectantly. "And this indicates..."

"Catastrophe," Starrk finished.

Done with him, it was now Gin's turn to undergo an interrogation. "Do you know where he is?"

"'Course."

"Will you tell me?"

"Abs'lutely not."

She bit back a curse. "Has he done something?"

"Like ya wouldn't believe." Ichimaru Gin laughed—a devilish omen.

"And I assume that you won't be telling me."

"Well..." Gin twirled his fingers airily. "I dunno 'bout that. Let's see, I think sometime last night...he might've...killed all o' Baraggan's Fraccion, taken the big man's arm for a trophy after thrashing him fierce, sent him running off to tell Aizen, who is actively searching for him, by the way, and now he's doing somethin' worse than all of that put together."

He took another sip of his sake and watched in sadistic glee as the gravity in the room increased a million times over.

No one dared to say anything until Harribel placed her glass atop the coffee table before her and uttered simply, "Damn."

Running the palm of his hand agonizingly slow down his face, Starrk winced. "That fucking..."

_Everyone_ waited after that.

Then, Sun-Sun's lips formed a menacing smile that went unobstructed unlike the many others which had been buried under a sleeve. "I see," she said evenly. "Well, as long as he's having fun."

Treading back towards her impromptu styling center, she plucked the hairbrush from the floor and began tearing free clumps of blue, brown, and some lime-green from Lilynette. "No doubt, all that activity has produced quite a mess. And with that length of hair, he'll demand more than a bit of attention."

From her spot on the footrest, Mila-Rose cued in, "You're the second-scariest person I know, you know that." Her voice conveyed her collective astonishment from both what Gin had disclosed and that her olivine-headed counterpart was actually pleased about it. Surely, she hadn't always been one to enjoy the rampant doings of their pack leader. The effects of an amorous hypnosis, she postulated.

Next to her, Apache began giggling uncontrollably. Gods, it was contagious!

"Serves that bastard right!" she whooped giddily. "Those fuckers had it comin' anyway, ya can't get by that."

And it was true, Mila-Rose couldn't really dispute the tinge of satisfaction that had arisen in her heart. After all, it was no secret in Las Noches that Baraggan's and Harribel's respective Fraccion hated each other with a passion. But damn it, why did their disposal have to have been carried out by Grimmjow of all people? Why couldn't he just let her stay pissed at him?

"Heh, I might have to give that crazy idiot a big wet kiss when he gets back."

No way in hell. Never ever would she fall under the same curse that plagued her sisters.

"_You_ will stand in line like a good girl," Sun-Sun spurned venomously.

For now, at least, the fear of the consequences was enough to ease her concerns

Back at ground zero, the Espada were a little less accepting of the recent news than their inferiors.

"Nice following he's got," Gin commentated beneath the ears of Harribel's adherents. "Might be a little disappointed when he gets back, though."

"Which brings me to wonder what it is he's doing that you say overshadows his attack on the Tercera—"

"The Cuarta," Ichimaru corrected, cutting Starrk off and earning an invisible smile from Harribel.

"Yeah, seems Aizen-Taicho ain't too happy 'bout him getting all personal with Grimmjow-san. Whether that means your mate's off the hook or not, I don't know. Now, word is, our lord and master's put in an order to Szayel-san for an organic prosthesis so that Baraggan can keep a number on 'im, so I think ya can risk a bit of optimism."

"At this point, that's not what I'm worried about. But seeing as how you're bound to withhold Grimmjow's big secret from us, I'll make do with what you give me," Starrk grumbled, reaching over and undoing his friend's jacket to expose that she still bore a gothic number three on her breast.

"I was wondering why I didn't see you and Luisenbarn down with the rest of us when we were getting re-inked." He bit the edge of his glove and raised it partway to show her the fresh '2' on his hand.

"He won't take kindly to an Adjuchas being elevated above him," Harribel said, zipping her garment back up to cover only her chest.

"I should think not," Starrk concurred, "even if you're a High A-Class."

Gin made a noise mid-drink. "You too, huh? Always suspected that you were one of the ones dodging the tests and hiding your class. Ulquiorra still takes the cake, though. Never would'a thought he'd try to pull the wool over Aizen-Taicho."

"Now that story I know." Starrk, paying no mind to Harribel who very much wanted to hit him at the moment, happily reobtained his guitar from Lilynette and struck up a high chord.

Leaning in, Gin said, "Whaddaya want for it?"

"Where's Grimmjow?"

"Szayel-san's lab," came the immediate reply.

"What the hell's he doing there?"

"One for one. You give me something else or I ain't tellin'."

Starrk sat back against the plush loveseat, pensive. Beside him, Harribel merely shook her head and sponged at her mask fragment to remove the wine stains. "I already told you about Tia, so that last one should've been free."

"It was. You weren't gonna tell me about Ulquiorra, and ta be honest, I don't really care." The vulpine Shinigami cocked his head and tisked mirthfully. "But I suppose I'd be willing to give you a couple hints for only a little something."

"Starrk," Harribel warned.

"Shoot," spoke the two halves of Soul-Splitter, one now sprawled across the lap of the other.

"Nah," Gin sniggered, "this is for Harribel-san."

Lilynette raised her head over the guitar at that, smacking her counterpart in the chin.

"Nothin' too nosy, now." The Tercera stayed cagey. "All I want to know is how you got it into your head that I was telling you the truth yesterday when I said that I was against Aizen-Taicho."

Visibly, Harribel relaxed. "Is that all? Then the answer is that my distress was laid to rest when Grimmjow and Starrk vouched for you."

"Oh? And what did they say?"

"That you let slip the truth after drinking quite heavily."

Gin's hold on his saucer slackened and he stretched his lanky frame exaggeratedly, giving the impression that he was rolling his eyes. He looked to Starrk after settling back down.

"What kinda weird things are you making up about me?"

There was a near-audible break amongst the low-strung tension.

"Ladies, look away."

This time, Harribel really did hit him.

"Agh!" The second Espada clutched at his gushing nose as Lilynette roared with laughter.

Wiping clean her knuckles, the Shark Empress made sure that her image was restored to the pinnacle of pristine serenity before calmly saying, "Yet another secret comes to light at my expense. There had better be a reason why I was lied to or our friendship will be in jeopardy. Have we reached an understanding?"

"I wouldn't dare say we haven't," Starrk groaned feebly while he reset his facial bone structure. "And it was all Grimmjow's idea for your information."

"I figured as much, which was why you were dealt an accomplice's punishment."

Away from the action, Mila-Rose pulled Sun-Sun to her side. "Make that third-scariest."

"Look," the only male Arrancar in the room threw his hands up, "we knew ever since we first saw him, okay? Grimmjow just wanted to keep you separated."

"Why?" Gin had been the one to ask.

"He didn't want you two to make contact while we were locked up. He thought you would be discovered and blow it."

"He said he didn't care."

"About us Hollows, no. He did, however and for whatever reason, want to make sure that _you_ didn't get into anything you couldn't dig yourself out of. So we ended up keeping Tia from seeking you out, and don't think for a second that I know why he went to the extent of making up a cover story." His countenance became tired, haggard even. "From time to time, he just up and does things like that. Out of all of us gathered here, I've known him the longest, and I still don't understand it. He's insane, not by a textbook definition, no, but his mind isn't stable. He's constantly evolving and degenerating, changing whenever the time calls for him to adapt. But the one thing that never changes is that if he finds anyone whom he thinks is even remotely similar to him, he feels like he has this debt to pay, that he has to...I don't know..."

"Make them more and less like him at the same time," Lilynette picked up.

Starrk nodded. "Yeah." Posture loose, he watched Gin as he processed what he'd just been given, the gears turning in his head and his lips twitching downward every now and then. Having observed that, the unseated viceroy came to know just what it was his emperor was up to in that god-forsaken laboratory. What a shame, he thought, that the forgotten Inoue Orihime had been the one to succeed that boy from over a century ago.

_**We are enough. We remember, everyone.**_

A soft buzzing came, and Aizen's right hand exited his momentary reverie to glance at a small device drawn from his pocket.

"Aizen-Taicho's ringin' for me and Tousen—looks like Ulquiorra finally found 'im," he announced, standing languidly from his chair.

"Y'all stay here, now. It's bad enough that you're hiding out under one roof, but me an' the storm can make it work for ya. Can't say the same for when you leave here, though."

Out towards his retreating form, scraping the staunched blood from his nasal passage, Starrk called, "I expect you to hold up your end of the deal, especially after all the trouble you put me through."

"I'll be passin' some things along to your boss, don't you worry," Gin assured on his way out, disappearing behind a curtain of incense and shadow.

"Shall I hold my breath?" Harribel breathed when all traces of him ever being there at all had evaporated into the dusk.

"It's okay." The Segunda settled his guitar into its case and braced his neck comfortably against a throw pillow.

"We got what we needed."

"Uh-huh," Lilynette yawned, making do with a pair of warm trousers as a bedspread. "Shadowcunt can take care of the rest."

* * *

There was a storm coming. Always, there was a storm coming at times like these.

Two figures, a man and a young girl, sat together atop a dune of ghostly-white sand and surveyed the barren panorama stretched out before them.

"Who's Grimmjow?" the girl piped up after a long period spent looking thoughtful. Holding her tattered blanket tight around her naked body, she turned her hair towards an oncoming gale.

"You don't remember," the man assumed, as if fact.

"Nah, not really. Not yet, anyway."

Blasted by coarse particles of rock and crystal, the pair said nothing for a time.

"So," the girl reasserted once the onslaught dropped to a tolerable level, "who is he?"

"He is the end product of the dark side of humanity," the man sullenly stated.

"Oh."

With a shared sadness, their chests dully ached.

"Where's he at? Dead?"

Coyote Starrk chuckled bitterly. "No, that guy's still around. He just went and got himself captured under circumstances that weren't fair. Right now, probably, I imagine he's all alone in that hall of ghosts."

"We were there too?"

"For a good ninety years, I think."

Lilynette's appreciative whistle was lost in the wind. "What happened?"

"We escaped one day when they took us out to feed, to evolve, and then we split."

"Ah."

She tried harder to remember.

And as she scratched at the surface of a past that wasn't entirely hers, a new presence emerged from behind, one that mollified the tempest, and it said smoothly, "That's quite something. Did you two cause all this, these mountains of Hollows?"

Right then, they had a choice to make. Both of them knew.

"Nope. They just went and died—"

"All on their own."

* * *

***The book which Grimmjow and Soul-Splitter are referencing is 'The Count of Monte Cristo'.**

**Also, if anyone else familiar with Kansai-ben has noticed some mistakes, please let me know. Sorry, I'm studying it alongside Tokyo-ben, so I had to slip it in somewhere.**

**Anyway, yeah, it's been a fucking long time. You readers deserve a full explanation, so I've posted one below if you'd care to read.**

**Story-wise, though, I know some of you are pissed that Orihime was only given a brief mention this chapter, but I just felt that I had to work on my existing characters. Sorry. She'll be returning soon.**

**Also, due to reasons stated below, I may or may not be writing shorter chapters to give you all less of a break between updates. Thanks, you guys are a great community and I'm happy to see that I have a 1:10 ratio of chapters to reviews which is more than I ever could've asked for. *cough* Need eight more now *cough***

**Warning: depressing shit below.**

**So, brain surgery kinda sucks. This is what I've found out after six months. Not only did I get a swathe cut into my beautiful mane of chestnut brown hair, but I also don't feel all that much better. I had what was known as an AVM: basically, a big fucking knot of arteries in the brain. That is now removed, and so my physical symptoms have all been alleviated. No more muscle atrophy, thank god.**

**Still, A LOT of shit has persisted and actually gotten worse. Turns out, I have a yet-to-be-identified mental condition. Fantastic. They say it's epilepsy but I call bullshit due to discrepancies with the established definition of the illness. Doctors, I've also found, do not care what you think, and now I'm on 3 Gs of anti-seizure pills a day. **

**They do nothing—a mystery to my loving physicians who say they've never seen brain activity quite like mine. So now, I can't drive, can't hold nearly any form of job, and I can't rest because my brain is so hyperactive with abnormal wave patterns that I don't ever enter REM sleep.**

**I'm a regular fucking medical mystery. **

**Pandering for sympathy: plus, my previous laptop melted. Good thing I had a hard-drive transfer cable or this chapter would've been up at Christmas.**

**Hope you all enjoyed a long-overdue chapter.**


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